Loneliness
by Giselle d'Angouleme
Summary: Ch2 revised; just ch3 left. Mod-AU Death befalls a shamed woman. Will Aoshi be able to realize his mistakes before it happens again?
1. Prologue: An Untimely Death

Loneliness

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Prologue: An Untimely Death

I cried as I recalled the painful memory. That awful, horrible night where I… Scenes of that particular night flickered through the surface of my consciousness.

I felt the fear I felt back then. I remembered the look in his eyes, seeing in them his own fear.

I shuddered and crumpled to the floor; having just taken a bath, my wet hair fanned out before me in tangles. It was pointless for a bath tonight, I realized. Not a minute after I left the bathhouse, the sky tore itself open and unleashed its own grief to the land of Japan. It seemed I couldn't even do anything right anymore.

Why, I thought, my face wet in my own tears, how could he do that to me? I thought he really did love me. I really did. Wasn't that why he… I swallowed. My trembling hand rested on my belly. It had grown from a lump into a bulge in just a few months; in those few months since he went away.

Didn't he love me, us?

I could hear him in my mind, saying those three words to me. At that time, he sounded like he meant it. At that time, I thought he really did mean it. I'm just not so sure anymore. I stilled. When had I ever been sure of his feelings? Could it be that I have been wrong about him all along?

I angrily wiped my tears. How could he? His name rolled off my tongue before I could stop myself.

"Aoshi.." My heart gave a flutter of beats as it cued an eruption of butterflies in my stomach. Warmth I thought I could never feel anymore crept up to my face. I touched the tenderness of my own skin. It tingled.

Gods, strike me dead for I still loved this evil man!

I needed to move on. I knew he, for all his evil ways, wanted me to move on. I read that much from the look he gave me before he turned and fled. It was the second time I've seen it. I wiped the wetness from my nose and pushed myself off of the floor. I wobbled a little as I got on my feet. I stood still and waited for the dizziness to pass.

A particularly sharp stab of thunder made me flinch and turn my head to the darkness outside my window. I walked towards it and slid the glass panels open. I could barely make anything out of the dark shapes beyond the garden. I imagined them to be little demons, fabled imps dancing in the darkness to the fast-paced beat of the falling rain. I imagined them playing towards the edge of the forest, taunting and teasing each other with dares and challenges.

I was drawn away from my thoughts as the wind blew into my room, pelting my face with icy cold rain. The lamplight extinguished; my room plunged into darkness. My previous thoughts came back to me. The demons and imps would be dancing into the darkness of my room. I backed away from the window, shivering as the wind came in contact with my dampened yukata. I thoughtlessly bumped into something and nearly fell. My clothing came undone, the folds parting down as the ties loosened. I grasped the offending object's sides as I righted myself.

I looked.

There, in the dim light, I saw a ghost.

I looked at my reflection in disgust. From the pale, sickly face to the bloodshot eyes, the image before me was the image of neglect and malnourishment. It was me. My uncombed hair fell limp around my shoulders and back. In this lack of light, it looked like a dark shroud. My eyes wandered down to the bulge in my midsection.

I was carrying his child.

My hand automatically traveled down to my abdomen. I caressed my swollen belly as if to comfort the being growing inside. My chest warmed. It would have been a nice feeling had it not been for the constricted feeling that came after it.

My baby. Our baby.

The tears come again. I hated myself for it. The sky outside seemed to hate it, too, for it wept even further. I could almost hear the imps cackling among the trees. Lightning danced across the sky, illuminating the four corners of my quarters. Something shiny caught my wandering gaze. There.. on my drawers.. what was it? I blindly walked towards it.

This child didn't have a father.

"A coward," I heard myself whisper. My voice has gone. I was suddenly aware of the fatigue that's been plaguing my body for months. I just felt so tired.

I grasped one of my kunai.

—

The rain had long since stopped. The storm had passed. As one neighbor opened her window, she could see a man sprinting down the puddled streets. The neighbor shook her head, figuring that the man had heard the news of Aoiya owner's death and was rushing to see what he could do. _He is too late_, she noted as she turned to place the lamp closer to the window to ward off the after-rain chill. She had heard from the old couple across the street what had happened; that they had found her bleeding on the floor.

News had spread that Makimachi Misao was dead.

—

Rewritten: Oct. 20, 2006

Revised: Feb. 10, 2008

I chose to write out the scenes with Okon and Omasu as well as Okina's scene with Aoshi. I figured there'd be more time for lengthy and winding explanations later on. I don't know how to write anymore- I never did in the first place. ~_~ Comments and even scathing criticisms are most welcome, I'll do my best to improve whatever faults are pointed out.


	2. Chapter 1: Dreams... Reality..

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Chapter 1: Dreams... Reality..

I bolted upright in my bed, breathing heavily as hazy images swirled in and past my vision. Sleep still had yet to release me from its grasp. Her blood. I could still smell her blood soaking my trousers where I had sunk to my knees. My hands... I raised my appendages before my face, willing away the feeling of her life blood sliding between my fingers. So real. Too real. An almost whimper escaped me as I bent over my drawn knees.

It wasn't real.

She wasn't real.

It was just a dream.

This mantra I chanted over and over in my mind like a haunted victim as I ducked my head between my knees and forced myself to breathe. These coping mechanisms fell easier and easier into my actions the longer I did them. How long exactly have I been doing them...? One month, two? It didn't matter. What mattered was the all-encompassing fear that gripped my lungs, causing my breathing to come in fast, short gasps. If I didn't get it under control, I would hyperventilate.

I forced myself to sit still, breathe slowly and deeply, even when behind my eyelids I could still see her glassy eyes staring at me so accusingly in their lifelessness.

I had killed her.

"No," I whispered harshly to myself, my voice coming out strangled though I finally got some semblance of my breathing back in order. It was a dream. A nightmare. Nothing more.

A glance towards the clock at my bedside table confirmed another sleepless night ahead of me. It was only 2:45 AM. Finally releasing the death grip I had on my blanket, I wrenched it from the bottom half of my body, only truly aware that it had tangled in my legs when my arm was jarred from movement. I sighed tiredly, though I welcomed the mechanical task of disentangling my limbs from the now constricting sheet.

My mind was thankfully free of any thoughts, though the aftermath of those thoughts still shook me. I was willing to take what I could get, but I needed calm. I looked back on my disheveled bed as I got up from it and silently cursed it, as if it was at fault for bringing these dreams to me.

I needed to calm down.

It was too early to be in the kitchen, but this was where I found myself leaning against the edge of the table, arms crossed over my chest as I watched the simple chrome kettle heat over the stove in front of me.

Misao. That was her name in my dream, wasn't it? Misao...

She had died a shamed woman because of me. What was wrong with me, dreaming about a woman clearly of the past? A woman of status, too. Not many women were granted a full length mirror back in the day...

The fact remained that she killed herself out of shame; pregnant, unmarried, and the father of the child missing. Me. Pregnant, unmarried women were no more than common women of pleasure. Those women were considered the lowest of society, and were often shunned...made to suffer. For a woman of status such as Misao to have been ill met with such a fate was damning. Death was the only way to maintain her honor as a woman. That much I understood, but why was I even dreaming of this? Why was it affecting me so strongly?

The whistle of steam jetting from the hot kettle spout pulled me from my troubles, and I eagerly poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot of green tea leaves.

This dream-this nightmare had been plaguing me for the past two months; always the same dream, always the same girl, always the same end.

An involuntary shudder rippled through me as I remembered the first night it came to me.

I had woken up so disoriented that I hadn't known I was awake. I hadn't been able to breathe. I hadn't been able to see past my own grief. I had been so suffocated by the loss I had felt... the devastation...

...the guilt.

"Aoshi."

I whirled at the sound of my own name, finding my brother at the entrance to the kitchen. "Aniki," I breathed.

He looked like he had just gotten out of bed; his eyes squinted in the stark light of the kitchen, his dark hair was out of its usual orderly style. "It's three in the morning," he stated, his voice unnaturally deep, "is something wrong?"

"I couldn't sleep," I confessed, turning around and reaching for the teapot. I hated the way my fingers shook before they closed around the handle, but I managed to finally pour myself some tea. There was something in the act that started to relax me a little. I could breathe easily again, at least.

"All right," came my brother's retreating voice, "don't forget to turn off the lights."

My hands trembled still as I grasped them around the cup. My gaze intent on its contents of tea swirling within its confines. I couldn't face my brother, not with this guilt burning through me, damning me to my own personal hell.

"Yes, aniki."

My insides burned with the shame I attempted to chase down with a gulp of hot tea. It settled uneasily in the pit of my belly.

No, sleep wasn't coming to me tonight.

—

Early morning sunlight flitted through the window, waking Misao, a girl of 17 from her peaceful slumber. She groaned and turned over as if to hide from the sun, mumbling faintly about lights being too bright and how the conservation of electricity was the backbone to world domination, Omasu, didn't you get it? With her back to the window and her face hidden in the shadows, she settled down again.

But then her blanket was getting stuffy; she felt like she was breathing stale air.

She kicked her blankets away from her body and drifted off again.

But the air was beginning to get chilly in the changing season that it raised goosebumps all along the exposed skin of her legs, forcing the girl to wake.

A tremendous, disgruntled groan escaped her, one bleary cerulean eye opening to look at her happy-looking frog alarm clock. 7:10 AM. A defeated sigh escaped her as she reached up to rub the bleariness from her eyes. She might as well get up.

Misao slid her way off her bed and onto her feet, stretching her arms high above her head, shifting her weight to her toes—a childish practice to gain more height—and heaving a great yawn. Turning to her window as she lowered her arms, she scowled at the brightness beyond it, saying, "You win this time."

Dressed in sleepwear consisting of tiny shorts and a thin, long sleeved top, she entered her adjoining bathroom; and emerged moments later in panties and a thin cotton slip, fresh-faced and alert.

Today, Misao was a morning person.

By 7:30 AM she was happily skipping down the stairs and into the kitchen, dark shoulder-length hair swishing in the ponytail behind her. She paused at the doorway to take stock of the sight that greeted her: menial breakfast foods were laid out on the table, and a cantankerous old geezer was sitting on one of the hard oak chairs. Misao smiled, everything was just perfect.

"Good morning, Jiya!" she greeted jovially as she dropped a kiss on top of her grandfather's full head of gray hair. She was happy to see that he was having tea and not coffee, and proceeded to put some toast on for him and herself, humming along the way.

"And to you, my pretty Misao," came her grandfather's warm voice. Okina, as he was so fondly named, kept his gaze on the newspaper in his hand; smiling as he asked innocently, "Good dreams?"

"How did you—?" she whirled around to face him, her hands on her hips. "Mou, Jiya!" she exclaimed exasperatedly at the characteristic gleam in his eye. "When are you going to stop checking in on me like I'm still a kid? I'm already in college!"

"I was about to wake you up and tell you to get ready for school," he confessed with false remorse as he set down his newspaper and daintily took his hand to his cheek. "But just as I was about to yank down your covers, I noticed that cute little smile on your face—the one that you always had ever since you were a child—every time you were dreaming." If it was possible, he would have been emitting bright pink hearts. He cooed softly, "I didn't have the heart to wake my lovely Misao."

"Eurgh!" was all the embarrassed girl was able to say on the subject and abruptly muttered, "and if you dare try and wake me up one more time, I'm canceling all your swimsuit calendar subscriptions." She glared at her grandfather, who had innocently returned to his tea and newspaper somewhere during her small declaration. She retrieved and placed the plate of toast among the other food on the table with a huff, saying, "Now be a good grandfather and eat something."

Okina simply raised his teacup in mock toast, and continued to read the paper.

"There's a reason why drinking and eating are two different things, Jiya," Misao sighed, exasperated. She picked up a piece of toast and began to slather it with strawberry jam, her grandfather's favorite, and placed it in his outstretched hand. "Ah, I know that very well, my pretty," her grandfather said sweetly as he took a bite of his toast. "But I very much enjoy you doting on me. What does an old man have to do around here these days to earn his granddaughter's"—

The sound of a projectile slicing through the air quickly followed by a thud pierced through Okina's ramblings. A butter knife lay wedged into the wood molding of the kitchen wall right behind the old man, the handle wobbling slightly. He sighed and turned to his fuming granddaughter. "I'm impressed by how you spent your summer playing darts, Misao, but try not to leave holes in our walls."

"Only if you stop being a manipulative old geezer, and start making your own toast," she mock-scowled at him as she turned to get a clean butter knife from the cutlery drawer.

"Then I better invest in some plaster," the old businessman mused loudly as he stroked his thin gray beard, earning a soft giggle from the young lady.

It was a short while later that Okina put away his newspaper, saying, "Why don't you share your dream with me, Misao? Your grandfather needs to live vicariously through your youthful fantasies to stay young after all."

"Jiya! Do I have to?" she whined, making a face, "You're only going to over-analyze them again and tell me I'm going on a long journey of self discovery or something."

Her grandfather merely cast her with the dopiest set of puppy eyes at which she rolled her own and started recounting her dream while eating her toast.

"I was in a garden just like yours, Jiya. I was just standing there, bored, waiting for something to happen. It seemed like I was waiting for someone. I remember feeling impatient about it, but knew that my patience would be well-rewarded.

"I heard my name being called. I turned around, and there was a man. The first thing I noticed about him was how his arms were tattooed with red and black stripes, as if he was some kind of morbid clown. I say morbid clown because of the mask he wore. It looked like one of those demon masks you love to collect in your office. He looked pretty scary, but for some reason I wasn't scared. I just ran to him and gestured to be picked up, and he did. I think I called him Hannya.

"Hannya asked me if I was ready to see Aoshi-sama, and it was like I was on a sugar rush. Just the mention of Aoshi-sama made me so happy that I think if I was given the means to, I'd have been bouncing off the walls."

Okina chose this time to clear his throat, drawing the girl's attention to him. "Sugar rushes are dangerous, Misao," her grandfather warned. "Your grandmother had diabetes."

"I know, Jiya," she nodded solemnly and continued. "Hannya let me ride on his shoulders, just like how you used to for me when I was younger, and we went inside and up a set of stairs. He set me down in front of a closed door, and I just _knew_ that he was inside waiting for me."

"Who?"

"Aoshi-sama," Misao said simply. "You know how in dreams you feel like you're looking at things from a lot of angles?" At Okina's nod, she said, "I felt like I was in the room already even though I was still outside. I could see him but I couldn't see him, you know? Anyway, he was sitting down with his back to me. I flung open the door and practically jumped him and asked him to come outside and play with me. And just as he was about to turn around," she huffed, wrinkling her nose, "I woke up."

Okina let loose a loud guffaw, earning himself a glare from his granddaughter. "My poor Misao never got to see her beloved Aoshi-sama! Ah, my dear, that is too tragic."

"Well, I may not have seen his face, but I do know that he has the coldest blue eyes, ever," Misao said, ignoring her still chuckling grandfather as she buttered another piece of toast. "...so blue that they're like ice, if that makes sense."

"My Misao has a crush!" came the incredulous exclamation.

"Oh, Jiya! Grow up!" the girl in question snapped. "It's just a dream about ninjas!"

"Ninjas?"

She nodded. "In my dream I sort of knew that Hannya and Aoshi were ninjas, and that I was too," she frowned, "or at least I was going to be." She froze as her gaze drifted up to the wall clock, "Oops. Time's up."

"Don't worry about cleaning up," Okina assured her, lifting his newspaper again as he received a kiss on the cheek from his granddaughter. "I'll call when I get to Hong Kong," he added, knowing that she was going to remind him about it as he was leaving in the afternoon for his business trip.

"Good." Misao smiled at him from the entrance to the kitchen as she secured her messenger bag on her shoulder. She turned with a wave. "Later, Jiya!"

"Don't think about blue-eyed ninjas while in class!"

A loud raspberry was the only dignified retort Misao could make.

—

I felt like I had been plunged into the coldest part of the Antarctic as I sat frozen at the wheel of my car; and yet I couldn't tear my eyes away from her as she crossed the street, passed right in front of me, and got onto the sidewalk. I had to look at her. I felt like a starving man only just realizing he was hungry at the sight of a warm bowl of soup. I didn't realize that I had only just been holding my breath during the past two months for a glimpse of her.

That lady.

_That lady._

But she couldn't be _her_. It didn't make sense. Already my mind had picked out the differences between the lady from my nightmare and the lady that just passed in front of my car. Her hair was too short, her body wasn't malnourished…and she was certainly alive.

Alive.

I quickly tamped down any following thoughts as a horn behind me honked in annoyance. I looked to the sidewalk where I saw her last. Only crowds of people met my gaze; gone was the swishing raven ponytail. Stepping my foot to the gas pedal, I sped away.

Why was I dreaming about a woman I hadn't even seen until now? That single question plagued me all the way to campus, and before I knew it, I was already walking down the noisy halls. As my awareness broadened, so did my hearing. It was like someone had taken the volume knob and slowly turned it up. Just like that, I was immersed in the sounds of carefree chatter and greetings. It was startling how time lapsed on me without my knowing. It also didn't help that I had little to no sleep the night before. Had I been sleepwalking all this time? It was a miracle that I hadn't knocked anyone—

"Kya!"

I jerked back as I felt someone crash into me, and the books that I hadn't even realized were in my grasp fell to the floor along with the other party's books. I mentally berated myself at my lack of focus. Was my day only going to get worse from here on? I bent down to collect my things, only half aware that the person I had bumped into was a girl.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't really looking; my friend was being too distracting, waving at me like a maniac that I"—

"It's okay," I cut her off, having gathered my things in one arm and reached to lift the last item remaining on the floor: a political science textbook. Not mine. Straightening up, I offered it to the lady, intent on moving on to my classroom once the book had left my hands. But something compelled me to look at her face; she was so short, she barely came up to my chin. It wasn't her height that made me stop and stare, though. Oh, no.

Her eyes looked inquisitively at me as if to say, 'how now, sucker?' Or was I just imagining that? I was also probably just imagining my karma. Her eyes weren't red-rimmed nor haunted; neither were they sunken into hollow sockets. No, her eyes were as clear as an ocean on a summer day. She was alive. She was in front of me.

"Misao," I breathed.

—

To Be Continued.

Rewritten: Jan. 12, 2011

Hi. How now, sucker?


	3. Chapter 2: Reality...

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Chapter 2: Reality...

Misao blushed as she kept being stared at like she was...something. The man in front of her was really, well, handsome (those eyes!); and the longer he stared at her, the more flustered she started to get. She also could have sworn that he said her name. But really, this hunk would know her name? She doubted it.

"Er.. I'm really, really sorry for bumping into you," she swiftly executed a bow after retrieving her fallen textbook from his grasp. She flashed him a nervous smile as she straightened up, "I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?"

If she hadn't been looking at him, she wouldn't have noticed the near imperceptible shaking of his head. "Oh good, that's great!" she sighed in relief, nodding. "I'll see you around then? Thanks for picking up my book!" After flashing him another smile, she walked past him. Really fast. Why?

Because Okon was looking at her like she was about to go into a conniption. Misao wanted to be by her friend's side to drag her to a less populated area before she exploded. She wasn't concerned for herself, no, but for the rest of the people in the hallway. Okon in a bitch fit wasn't something very nice to witness.

Reaching her friend's side, Misao linked their arms. "Good morning to you, too, Okon," she said cheerfully and continued to hurry down the hall, towing her along. Their first class (though different) wasn't til 9:45; they had a lot of time for blowing up though the then morning person wasn't looking forward to it. "How was your date with whatsisname? You never told me his name. You promised to tell me last night but your call never came; and it turned out that I stayed up for nothing."

"Oh who cares about that stupid date?" came Okon's scornful reply. Misao blinked. It seemed the date didn't turn out the way her friend wanted it to. But before she could press for details, Okon lightly slapped her arm and asked, "What was that I saw just now, hm? Was that a calculated move to get his attention?"

"Huh?"

"Don't play dumb," Okon admonished, "though if you're still starstruck, I don't blame you."

Starstruck was such an apt word to describe Misao, though she wouldn't know it herself. It was hard to diagnose one's feelings while one was in a bit of a shock after all. Instead, Misao asked, "Why? Is he an actor or something?" Actors and models weren't rare in her campus. This was, after all, the Fine Arts and Engineering campus of her university.

Okon laughed. Normally it was a beautiful laugh, but this laugh was a little derisive and incredulous. She flipped her long dark hair behind her shoulder. "Really? You don't know him?"

"Should I?" Misao was starting to get used to these little condescension talks. Okon seemed to be up to date with the who's who of the campus talents and was always the one to berate Misao for not recognizing them whenever they passed down the halls. Everyone was relaxed, there were no crowds of fans trailing helplessly behind said talents. Usually. "You know I don't care for these things," she added.

"I really don't see how you survived the first seventeen years of your life being oblivious to what's important," her friend huffed. (Count on Okon to consider idols and pop stars important.)

"Yes, yes. Poor unaware Misao," she said self-deprecatingly. "Who is it this time?"

She sensed more than saw Okon roll her eyes. "You were lucky enough to bump into Shinomori Aoshi." Then she launched into a (scary, borderline stalker) in-depth profile on the single, twenty-two-year-old 'hottie.' Aoshi was majoring in civil engineering with an associate's degree in accounting and business administration. He drove a silver 2000 Audi A4, mentioned by Aoshi that it was a gift from his brother. He wasn't interested in dating; was speculated to be gay, hounded by girls, men, and trannies alike. No, he wasn't an actor or a model. Talent scouts couldn't get him. Idols couldn't get him. He didn't keep many friends. Quiet. Nice. Gorgeous ass.

Misao laughed as Okon trailed off to single-word descriptors. "What's a tranny?" she asked.

"Transvestite."

"Oh, like Kamatari," Misao nodded, remembering Okon's flamboyant friend. "So the ass he always talked about was Shinomori's?"

"Be polite," Okon squeezed her arm. "He's _Senpai_. But yes, Kamatari has been terribly obsessed with Senpai ever since they had the same Chinese class together." That was an understatement. Misao had to endure at least one epithet of a man's body part whenever Kamatari was around.

"I thought you said he majored in engineering?"

"It was speculated he needed to fill in the appropriate number of credits for the semester to keep his scholarship."

"Where did you get all these information from anyway?" Misao frowned a little as they turned a corner and exited the double doors to one of the smaller courtyards in the campus.

"Kamatari, of course," Okon said airily as they settled down at one of the unoccupied tables. "You know how that man can talk up a storm with everyone. He practically hears and sees everything."

"It must help to be a popular photographer," Misao murmured absently, taking stock of her surroundings. Five stories of wall surrounded the yard, keeping it mostly in shade except during noon. The ground was mostly cobblestone, though the corners and center were left uncovered for lush greenery. Wrought iron tables and chairs gave the area a bit of a cafe-like feel. Yet these things barely touched on the forefront of her attention. Something was nagging at her, like she was forgetting something.

"Yoohoo!"

The nagging feeling left her as she blinked out of the apparent reverie she had sunk in. Right before her was the flawless face of none other than Honjou Kamatari, one of the campus' most successful transvestites. Unable to bite back the yelp of surprise, Misao jerked back in her seat. "Gah!"

"You know, when I heard a weasel had bumped into Aoshi-san at the battlefield line, I would have thought she would yell at him to watch where he was going," was Kamatri's way of greeting. The froufrou man settled himself comfortably in the last available chair at their table, arranging his skirt around his knees. He was dressed in a pale lavender lace shift dress.

The 'battlefield line' or 'the border' was the hallway that separated the engineering rooms from the fine arts rooms. Housed in the same building, the occupants fondly named the hallway as such since it evenly split the building into two different sides.

"My poor Aoshi-san must be suffering horrible bruises after the ordeal," Kamatari added.

"Augh—stop calling me weasel!"

"You do realize his fans will be shooting you death glares all throughout the day once they hear about this, yes?" Kamatari smoothly spoke over her irritated mutterings. "And if I do say so, you were mooning over him just now weren't you?"

"I wasn't."

"She was," Okon supplied helpfully from her chair, an open textbook propped up against the table edge. "I gave up trying to talk to her a while ago." Both persons dissolved into gleeful giggles at Misao's expense.

"You were there when she crashed into him?"

"Yes, she was hardly paying attention too."

"Poor Aoshi-san! I hope he's all right."

"He seemed a little dazed."

"Oh no! This weasel really knocked him down that hard?"

"No, not at all. I think neither of them were paying attention now that I think about it. Senpai seemed distracted."

"That can't be good. What if he trips on his way upstairs?"

"Don't fret too much, Kamatari. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Oh, look. She's mooning over him again."

"I am not!" Misao was galled to realize she stomped her foot even while sitting down. "You guys are hopeless. I'm going ahead." She stood and left them, their laughter following her all the way to the double doors.

...and much to Misao's annoyance, Kamatari had been right about the death glares. She also never did figure out what she was supposed to remember.

—

Today was not my day.

Following the first, I had bumped into three more people, tripped over at least seven steps, lost my favorite pen, and had fallen asleep in two of my classes. It had been a nightmare so far; though speaking of which, I thankfully had not dreamt during those brief interludes of sleep.

Would the dream stop now that she was haunting me in real life? She, Misao, was in the flesh. She attended the same university as I did. (I had initially thought she was much younger.) Was the dream some kind of warning to stay away from her? I wouldn't have much problems with that, truly. She spooked me enough in my sleep.

It was only a little after two in the afternoon, but the day was winding down for me. I was glad to see myself through my last class relatively unscathed and causing no harm to anyone else. A short nap at the campus library was probably ideal, but sleeping in public places was embarrassing. The idea didn't sound good.

Huh. Did ideas have sounds?

"Aoshi-san?"

I lifted my gaze to a man in a dress and nodded. "Honjou." Three years in this university had given me some insight in diversity. Seeing men parade around in lace skirts was nothing new, especially with Honjou Kamatari. The man was more stylish than most of the women on campus.

I realized that we were the only two people left in the classroom, and I knew he wasn't in any of my classes this semester. "How did you find me?"

"I know the student assistant at the registrar," the man tittered, twirling a lock of his hair around a finger. "How are you holding up with your schedule?"

"Fine." I wasn't surprised that he would look up my schedule. He seemed intent on sharing my company ever since we met on our first day at university a couple of years ago. I detested my semester schedule. It was normal until midweek; then I would have no classes on Thursday, and on Friday I would be running from class to class morning til evening.. I hated Fridays especially.

"You look tired, Aoshi-san," he peered at me in that usual concerned manner he always sported whenever he found something wrong.

"Aa." I could count on him to point out the obvious. I stood up and slung my bag over my shoulder, picking up my books.

"Mou, and I was going to ask you to accompany me to a coffee," he pouted, twisting his body left and right. He seemed to be attempting to look cute.

"Perhaps another time," I started to move away when I noticed him looking me over with a tilt of his head. "Is something the matter, Honjou?"

"Yes, there definitely is," he frowned and pouted again. "How many times have I asked you to call me Kamatari, Aoshi-san? Bah. You men are so boorish."

I merely arched an eyebrow at him before continuing towards the door, and felt him falling into step behind me. "Anyway, I heard about this morning," Honjou continued. "Poor dear, you must be bruised all over."

"I'm fine."

"You keep saying you are, but I see otherwise," he huffed. "Who'd have thought that you and Misao shared the same denial sentiments..."

I stopped my brisk stride, only barely hearing the "Oomph" that followed as Honjou bumped my left shoulder blade.

"Mou, Aoshi-san!"

"What did you say?"

"What?" he stepped back, stopping his fussing over his dress.

I couldn't have heard wrong. "Her name."

"Misao?" A look I couldn't recognize crossed his features.

"You know her?" I prompted, feeling just a little nervous. If Honjou knew Misao, I could find out a bit more about her and...what? I didn't know enough about the Misao in my nightmare. I had nothing with which to compare this modern Misao.

This time I recognized the shrewd look on Honjou's face. It was a look I saw on most women when they tried to get something out of their partners. ...not that I was looking too deeply into it of course. "I'm acquainted with her," Honjou said. "Weaselly, short, and flat-chested."

I watched warily as an idea came to him. He smiled at me and said as he grabbed my arm, "I'll tell you all about her at the coffee shop."

Like an idiot, I actually let him drag me to the crowded campus coffee shop.

"Now," he said as he settled in his seat with his simple mocha latte. We were at a table in the middle of the shop, surrounded by people sitting at other tables. The noise level was constant enough to block our conversation from others, but not too loud to be annoying. "Do you have any specific questions or shall I prattle on?"

I unintentionally blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "How do you know her?" I must be really tired.

"That's not very interesting to know," he wrinkled his nose and took a sip from his cup. "Okay, well. She's friends with a kouhai of mine from middle school. They met during high school and they've hung out together ever since. Shall I move on to the interesting tidbits?"

I merely looked at him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said gleefully. "The girly gossip around her is that she may be lesbian, because so far she has turned down anyone who dared to ask. It's not so difficult to imagine; she does have the figure for it. It's possible though, that she just doesn't like their faces; most of the boys who have asked her out are rather homely. I just wish she'd come out of the closet already or something. I have heard about one girl trying to hit on her though, but she also didn't get much success. Hmm...then again, the poor thing is ridiculously butch. Maybe she prefers the feminine types." He broke off with a gasp. "I hope she isn't already interested in me, though it would explain why she hasn't looked at anyone else. Sadly, she's really not my type. I'd have to let her down gently."

"Ah."

"Oh, look," he perked up and pointed a manicured finger over my shoulder. "There she is with my kouhai."

I turned around apprehensively, expecting her to be at another table. Her movement caught my attention and I visibly relaxed. She was beyond the cafe's glass window, walking by it. She was with a taller lady with long hair. Her face was turned towards the shop as her mouth moved in silent speech. One of her hands was gesturing animatedly.

"Ah...she's no doubt complaining about the death glares," Honjou commented behind me. "She was the only one you stopped to talk to when she bumped into you. A lot of silly girls were jealous."

Her gesturing hand stilled as she listened to her companion speak, then her expression melted into laughter. I was amazed despite myself; up until now, the only expressions I had seen with her face were that of misery and tears. My gaze followed her until she moved out of sight. Turning back to him, I echoed, confused, "Jealous?"

"Who, me?" he grinned, then shook his head. "You're an eligible bachelor, Aoshi-san. You have many admirers."

I frowned. I didn't see what was so admirable about myself, so I ignored his statement. "How old is she?"

"She's a freshman along with my kouhai, so I'd guess 18," he said with a careless shrug. "I hear she's an interior design major. More interesting tidbits?" He took my silence as a sign to go on. "Every after her last class of the day she goes down to that terrible, understaffed shop at the lobby of the Ka building for something to eat or drink. Honestly, I just think she likes to annoy the student workers there, Shirojou and Kurojou. Hmm..." He murmured thoughtfully, "I'm positive Kurojou came out two semesters ago, and poor Shirojou is head over heels for my kouhai (Oh, did I tell you her name is Okon?). Poor thing, he knows all about her finicky exploits and is afraid to let her know how he feels. I think the weasel is coaching that man to build up his courage. The shy boy really is quite adorable. By the way, why are you curious about her, Aoshi-san? I believe this is the first time you've taken interest in a girl."

Because she looked like the woman who haunted me in my dreams every night with a replay of her death. Did I tell you they have the same name? I shook my head and murmured instead, "Just wondering how she was. I think I may have hurt her."

"She didn't seem to be limping or in any pain a while ago," he said dryly and closed his eyes at my pathetic excuse.

When I thought he had exhausted his 'tidbits,' he casually asked, "Would Aoshi-san like a copy of her schedule?"

Not wanting to be made out as a stalker, I shook my head and got up, "Thank you, Honjou. I'll see you later." I turned and left the cafe to his cheerful "Ta-ta, Aoshi-san! Thank you for the coffee!"

—

It was five inches in length with a clear casing. Although round at the ends, it had 6 flattened sides suggesting a hexagonal shape. Inside the casing was the cartridge clearly indicating its usage level: it was a third empty. The casing shone in the light, but light scratches along the sides also indicated its use. It was not a new pen, but it was well-cared for.

It was not her pen. That was what troubled her.

She had found the pen in one of the outer pockets of her bag last night while she was rummaging for the piece of candy she had stashed from earlier in the day. She had been troubled ever since.

She was staring morosely at the pen clasped in her hand, slumped over the table at the Little Courtyard, the same place she had been on Monday morning. She couldn't remember from where she might have taken it. As far as she knew, the pen wasn't yet in her bag when she made sure all her important things were in it last Sunday night. She could have taken the pen anytime during Monday and...

Misao groaned. It was now Friday. Makimachi Misao was now a kleptomaniac as well as a klutz. She had been in a ton of classrooms since Monday. She couldn't very well go around asking everyone whether they owned the pen, could she? It was too much.

She could keep it. It was a good pen. The tip was in good condition, and the ink was similar to the one she preferred. Surely the owner already replaced the one he or she lost by now. Feeling a little better, Misao straightened up and looked around, wondering where Okon was.

"Sorry I'm late."

Speak of the devil, Misao thought wryly as Okon slid into one of the seats across the wrought iron table she was previously slumped over. She folded her arms close to the edge and said, "I'd have thought you got run over or something."

"Shut up, Misao, that's not funny," Okon snapped, running her fingers self-consciously through her mussed hair, her free hand already rummaging through her open bag for her compact. "I overslept."

"Long night?"

Okon merely pursed her lips and concentrated on fixing her appearance. Misao rolled her eyes, "You never tell me about your dates anymore. How else am I going to keep thinking how stupid boys are?"

"That's because anything I ever tell you gets out to the whole campus," the normally-prim lady scowled at her, which only made her roll her eyes again.

"Instead of blaming me, why don't you go look at that flaming purple yam behind you?" Misao said, exasperated at her friend for even thinking she would gossip about her. She joined Okon in glaring at Kamatari, who had been approaching them in a...

"Just what the hell are you wearing, Kamatari?" Misao squawked.

He was all ribbons and lace...he was even holding an umbrella, and even that wasn't safe from the lace and ribbons. "It's called gothic lolita," the transvestite sniffed disdainfully, doing a stilted kind of pirouette before them.

Misao's hands twitched as the deep purple ruffled outer skirt and a black petticoat lifted to reveal more of the man's stockinged legs than she liked to see. She still hadn't forgotten her first day of university when the man flashed her in public by lifting his skirt to prove his masculinity. It had not been a happy day. "Why are you here, anyway?" she asked sullenly. "This is the second time this week you've shown up. I liked it better when you only drop by once a month."

"Can't I check on my favorite kouhai without a weasel snarling at me?" Kamatari returned in kind, raising a perfect eyebrow. Misao rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath about stabbing him.

While Okon gushed at the pretty material, Misao shuddered at the utter girlishness of it, and instead remained silent as the two fell into happy chatter. She rested her chin on the heel of her hand, only then remembering that she was still clutching the pen she had 'stolen.' She examined it again, twisting it between her thumb and forefinger.

"Ew, you even have the same kind of pen?" came Kamatari's disgruntled snort, drawing Misao's attention back to him. "What?" she asked. "It's not my pen."

"Right," he said, unconvinced.

"I found it in my bag without remembering how it ended up there, okay?" she growled. She didn't like the bored and dismissive expression on Kamatari's face. If the pen was hers, she would have used it to stab his eye by now.

"Oh, you stole it."

"Who'd you steal it from?" Okon asked, interested in a good piece of gossip. Already she was leaning forward, ready to speak in the usual hushed tone she reserved for the activity.

Losing the last shred of her patience, Misao disgustedly threw her hands up. "I didn't steal it! I don't know who it belongs to! I just found it in my bag last night"—

"All right, all right," Kamatari waved a hand in front of him in a downward motion, waving her off as he always did when she started screeching like an angry weasel. "You're a mindless weasel with the eye of a magpie, and because of that I'll help you," he rushed to say as his statement made her puff up for another screeching. He rolled his eyes. "That, my dear weasel, is Aoshi-san's pen." He yelped as she immediately thrust the pen to his chest and he scrambled to catch it before it fell to the unforgiving ground.

"Good," Misao was saying, "you're friends with him, right? Give it back to him for me and tell him I'm...sorry." She bit out the last word with much difficulty. She hated apologizing especially when she did nothing intentionally wrong. "I'm going to class," she announced, standing up and shouldering her bag. "You," she pointed at Okon, who was enjoying her misfortune too much, "I'm not done with you. I'll see you later."

Much like Monday, their giggles followed her out of the courtyard, leaving her in an unpleasant mood. It left her scowling and snapping at anyone who got in her way, and muttering about friends and their loyalty to anyone who was unfortunately too close to her. Not that Misao noticed anyway. She scowled, snapped, and muttered her way through the day, and was finally worn out when she dragged herself to the forgotten shop at the Ka building.

Despite residing at the bustling lobby of the main Fine Arts building, the tiny canteen had few patrons. With the onset of the main dining area as well as a larger cafe with better space and palatable attractions, there was little use left for the Ka building's shop other than to sell refreshments and ready-made food. It could easily be run and maintained by single student staff, who at the moment was Kurojou, a tall man who was built like a powerhouse.

Kuro had already laid out a chilled bottle of chocolate milk and a giant butterscotch cookie for her when she approached the counter. "I figured you could use some comfort instead of the usual," he said when she looked at him curiously. "My treat," he added when she reached into her pocket. But that didn't stop Misao from plunking down the money for the drink and cookie anyway.

She despised being pitied. Sure, she loved treats but not for this day, no. Today was just pile after pile of rotten luck. She had managed to snarl at two of her professors, muttered her way through most of her classes, failed a quiz due to her lack of focus, and her favorite onigiri filling (tuna with mayonnaise!) had fallen out before she could take the last bite of it. Misao lost all hope of ever recovering her day then.

Twisting and popping the cap off of the cold bottle, she said, "Lucky you're already bald, or else I'd have told you to go bald." She only earned a rumble of amusement from the big man as she moved off to the table closest to the counter and started on her cookie.

Misao was halfway through her small snack when she couldn't take it anymore and sighed. Turning to the tanned man behind the counter, she asked, "Are there any more friends left in this world who wouldn't doubt your discretion?"

"Why, do you doubt mine?" Kuro asked, grinning.

"No, but someone doubts mine," she sighed, troubled. "I'm reliable aren't I? I keep secrets. I don't even gossip...I think." She trailed off, staring at her chocolate milk. "I mean, who do I gossip to? Argh!" She threw up her hands, gesturing to the shop around her. Its emptiness was the very reflection of where her thoughts were leading to. "Exactly! Who do I gossip to in this place!"

"Sounds to me like you need more friends," the man said lightly, shrugging as he leaned on the counter.

"That sounds about right to me," Misao agreed immediately, lifting her milk bottle to drink from it. The chocolate slid like velvet over her tongue, easing a bit of her disquiet. Misao was a happy girl, she even made friends easily. But being in university had put her out of kilter, and while she made easy acquaintances, she soon realized how schedules made making friends a bit harder. Okon had started hanging out more with Kamatari as the semester wore on, leaving her quite a bit behind and lost. Misao didn't like being left behind. Well, Okon obviously preferred gossiping over friendship, she thought wryly. "But hey, I could sit all day and yap about it."

"I could introduce you to a couple of my friends if you like," Kuro said easily.

Her gaze slid to the big man again, and leaning her chin on the heel of her hand, asked, "Don't you have any more friends like you, Kuro? A girl would be lucky to have a lot of friends like you if she could find any. A Kuro-friend harem."

"I feel insulted somehow," the man deadpanned. "I'm the original brew, you know. The rest are just copycats."

"Well, I do need a few for when you're busy and unavailable," Misao said indignantly, a wide smile already breaking out on her face, quickly followed by a giggle.

They both shared a laugh for a few seconds, and Misao returned to her cookie as a professor stepped in to buy a sandwich and a coffee. When they were alone again, she sighed, "Maybe being too happy is a friend deterrent. Nobody would want to be friends with someone who always tries to cheer you up when you want to stay down."

"It just goes to show you're an annoying little thing who won't give up," said Shiro as he walked in. Apparently he had heard her.

"Ha ha," she said dryly, waving at the tall man as he passed her table.

"He's right, you know," Kuro said, stepping aside to allow Shiro passage under the counter top. "Only an annoying little thing wouldn't give up on Shiro's nonexistent love life."

Misao burst into laughter at Shiro's annoyed glare and Kuro's smug look. "Thanks, guys," she grinned at them, wrapping up her finished snack. It was nice to laugh again. She was still hurt at Okon's distrust in her, but she could deal with that later. Brewing over it only gave her a bad day after all.

"Feeling better?" Kuro asked, coming out from behind the counter with his backpack to sit across from her at the table. She beamed at him, saying, "The snack helped, too. You know just what I need, Kuro."

"What can I say? I'm a sensitive guy," he winked. She giggled.

"Are there any empties?" Shiro asked, reappearing behind the counter. It was his turn to man the tiny shop until six in the evening.

"Nope, I refilled the tea just a while ago, but the Coke should be halfway," Kuro replied.

Misao watched Shiro putter around, amusement clear on her face. It was obvious the man was looking for something to do. "Someone's trying to avoid a confrontation." Her grin widened when she noticed the man's shoulders stiffening.

"Don't be so hard on him, Misao," Kuro said from across her. "Aoki-san just asked him out today."

"Hey!" Shiro spluttered as her eyes widened at the news. Kuro was unrepentant, saying, "I saw you two at the Ru building."

"Is she nice, Kuro? Do you know her?" Misao asked curiously.

"I don't really know her. She went to the same high school as Shiro and I, but she's your age. Her name is Aoki Namiko." The built man turned in his seat towards the counter. "You said yes, right?"

"I asked for her number," Shiro hedged. His gaze slid to Misao and he sighed. "What should I do?"

"Call her and ask her to a date," she said simply, which left him staring at her. "What?"

"But I like Okon-san."

"She has her own problems right now," Misao said firmly, clamping down on the urge to ask 'what do you see in her anyway?' She was having less than charitable thoughts of her friend, and wondered how she could ever lob Shiro off on her. Okon would break his heart in a second; and she didn't want to bear the guilt of it when it happened. Shiro was a great guy just like Kuro, only he was straight. He deserved someone nicer and less fickle. Standing up to toss the empty bottle in the recycle bin, she suggested, "Why don't you expand a bit?"

"I think she meant to consider a date with Aoki-san as a trial run," Kuro said quickly as she busied herself with drinking out of the water fountain.

"You make it sound like I've been living like a monk," Shiro protested.

"If the shoe fits," Kuro shrugged. "You stopped dating once you hit university."

"I could say the same for you."

"Only because I'm content with my life at the moment," Kuro said serenely. "I'm not the one pining after a girl."

"I'm not pining," the other man looked horrified, earning a snort from Misao as she returned to her seat. "'But I like Okon-san,'" she quoted, rejoining the conversation.

"You seem to have got it bad, my friend," Kuro nodded. "You're even planning to reject Aoki-san before you two have had the chance to talk."

"You'd think she was asking him to marry her," Misao grumbled. Kuro grinned.

"Fine!" Shiro said loudly. "I'll ask her out." He swiftly turned around towards the back of the shop to hide his red face as Misao and Kuro both shared a high five.

Time passed too quickly. It was already dark outside when Misao started heading home, and while the university was right in the middle of the city, the near empty parking lots were eerie to her and she rushed to cross the street towards the activity of cars and pedestrians. She breathed easier as she reached the street across campus, and was startled to see her breath visible before her.

Clearly the season was catching up to the days. It was just as well; it had been unseasonably warm for a November until tonight. Tonight she could actually feel the hairs on her arms stand from the cold, and that was a decidedly good thing because it meant that winter was coming. Misao grinned with childish glee, tilting her head up as she crossed another street and blew a puff of air through her lips.

The action made her pause in her tracks as a startling sense of déjà vu rolled through her. Had she done this before? She was sure she had, and yet she had never crossed this street in the past until university made it a necessity to cross it. Yet here she was in the middle of the street, so sure that she had. She could even imagine someone else standing next to her, and smiling at her from behind a mask. She was so sure of it that couldn't shake the feeling off.

If she looked back on this particular moment, she could swear that she heard even the passage of time. She heard the sound of traffic, then she heard that annoying squeal of tires on asphalt that she thought only existed in television, then she heard the wind.

Her hearing was the only thing she could rely on, for all she could remember seeing was light and dark, and all she could remember feeling was the curious sensation of soaring.

And a disconcerting crack.

And nothing.

—

To Be Continued

Rewritten: Feb. 6, 2011

See?

My apologies, Kamatari wasn't part of the original plot. He _inserted_ himself in there. For any Kuro fans, I am not sorry for making him gay. He is the best character to boot out of the closet because I always imagined him to be this gentle giant gay panda that cares for everyone. Yes.

Catch my _Much Ado About Nothing_ reference/mauling?


	4. Chapter 3: Dreams...

Loneliness Chapter 3: Dreams...  
  
Authoress' Notes:  
  
Heya minna!^__^ *waves* Finished! Triumph! Success! Yatta!!^___^ *does her jig* Hehe, anyhow, I finished this a long time ago.. But I never got to typing it on my computer.. ^^; Gomen ne! I'm lazy! I can't help it! *gryn*  
  
Disclaimer:  
  
Dun own RK and its characters.. --- Nobuhiro Watsuki  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
  
I walked back and forth in the waiting room, my heart pounding in my head... It's a mystery to me how it went up there... I am just too... worried and anxious to mind anyway.  
  
I looked around the small room, taking in the little details. It was simple, pottet mini palms on either side of two green benches sitting across each other, a famed picture of the founder of the hospital hung on the other awll. The bright lights looked too cheerful.. so unreal..  
  
I stopped in my tracks as the door opened and a doctor stepped in. He looked like he was in his mid thirties. He was in a plain white lab coat with a stethoscope dangling from his neck. I snapped out of my thoughts when he started talking,  
  
"She's got a concussion, but she's stable." He offered me a weary smile. My heart relaxed and stopped pounding and a sigh of relief escaped my lips. Oh thank kami!   
  
"Are you her relative?"   
  
Again, I snapped out of my thoughts, guilty for not paying attention. "Iie," I choked out guiltily, "Iie, I.. She just stopped in the middle of the street and I wasn't able to.. to step on the brakes in time.. so I...." I clumsily trailed off. "Ahh... Sou.. No need to tell me more", the doctor cut in.  
  
"Hmm... Well... I suppose you can come and see her. She's asleep though."   
  
The doctor led me out of the waiting room. I followed close behind him and glanced at the people sitting on benches, some crying, some staring blankly ahead of them; not knowing what to do. Some wandered aimlessly around, feeling hopeless. But there were also some with a glint of hope in their eyes, a small ray of hope that their loved one might live. I tore my eyes away from them as I followed the doctor walk through the sliding door and into a more quiet corridor. We walked a few more doors down until we reached one next to the last. The doctor silently turned the door knob and nudged the door open.. to the room where she was. I was... scared.. guilty and.. relieved at the same time. I turned to the doctor and thanked him, shaking his hand. On his way out, I overheard him mumbling to himself, "Kids.. how irresponsible..."   
  
I sweatdropped inwardly.  
  
My heart wrenched at the sight of her lying down on the hospital bed, a tube in the back of her hand, her face and arms bruised, the dim light making the bruises look deep and big. All of a sudden, my heart started pounding again.. I wanted to get out of here, as far away from her as possible.. to lock her out of my life forever. 'To say I don't love her...', a voice whispered in my head. My eyes widened.  
  
Who was THAT?!... What was that...? I think I'm going insane.. I went to a corner and sat on a chair, facing her frail form.  
  
An angel... an injured angel would be more like it, but an angel nonetheless... An angel... 'Harmed by the devil.' There it goes again! My hands shoot up towards my head, shutting my eyes tight, I let out a shuddering breath. What's wrong with me?! Who are you? What are you? 'I am...' it whispered in my head, 'I am...'  
  
The steady beep of the cardiac monitor brought me back to the hospital room, on the chair in the corner facing her bed. I rested my hand over my eyes and sighed. Just one girl... I never knew she could stir up so much emotions in me. And I don't even know her! 'Misao...' the voice whispered persistently. Misao... Aoshi... Isn't it strange we still have the same name?  
  
Strange, really...   
  
I finally understood who the voice in my head is...  
  
I tried to sense for the voice, but I didn't hear anymore. A sudden thought just struck me, why is Aoshi in my head...? I sank back on the chair in weariness and closed my eyes. What a day...  
  
---------------------------  
  
"Ano... Is Misao-chan home?" Okon asked, cradling the reciever with her shoulder, worry etched all over her face. "Iie..", Okina replied wearily. "Are you sure she's not at your house, Okon-chan?"  
  
"I-iie, maybe she's staying over at someone's house... Ano... daijoubu, she'll turn up in the mornin, I suppose...", Okon answered at the other end of the line. "I hope so... Well, ja ne, Okon-chan. If you see Misao-cha, tell her I left for a business trip to Hong Kong, that the keys are on the counter. SHe has her own keys so I'll be locking up the house." *click*  
  
Okon sighed and replaced the reciever back on the cradle and turning off the lighs, makes her way to bed. "Oh, Misao-chan," she thought out loud, lying back on her bed, resting her head on the pillow and yawning, "I hop you're alright..." She closed her eyes, sleep spreading over her like a warm blanket.  
  
Outside the wind was howling. Just like a whisper being carried away, "You are still the same..." The wind raged on...  
  
*****  
  
"Wai wai! Okon-neesan, look at this! Look at this!"  
  
I looked up from washing the dishes and gasped at the 5-year-old drenched in mud from head to toe. "Misao-chan! What on earth..-"  
  
"Ne, ne Okon-neesan! Look what I got!", Misao held up a large frog, carefully gripped in her little muddy hands. The look on her face showed pure joy and triumph in capturing the cold-blooded amphibian. My body stood rigid and tense as I stared at the frog. I held my breath and willed myself not so scream. Misao cocked her head to one side and looked at me with a funny look on her face. "Okon-neesan?", she said quietly. "Why won't you pet my kaeru-chan!", she suddenly squealed in delight. I grimaced and let out a whimper, "Misao-chan," My voice trembled. "Onegai.. I.. don't want that thing in the.. kitchen.. Please take it out.." But Misao didn't. Instead, she inched closer to me, thr frog in her muddy hands, its eyes steadily gazing at me. (AN: When you get in a frog's view, its eyes follow you if you inch to the side or up or down. Kakkoi, ne?^-^)   
  
I was backed up against the sink. Misao was looking at me expectantly, grinning. "Okon-neesan? Pet my kaeru-chan!" She giggled.  
  
The frog suddenly croaked and caught a fly with its elastic tongue then started munching it up. That was the last straw, I couldn't hold it in anymore, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!" I screamed. "Onegai! Misao-chan, get that thing away from me!"   
  
"But kaeru-chan likes you!"  
  
"Eeeeeyyyaaaaa!!!"  
  
"What's going on here?"  
  
Misao stopped and looked at the tall figure leaning on the doorframe. "Aoshi-sama! Wai wai! Look what I got!" The teenager with startling blue grey eyes looked down at the smiling 5-year-old. "Hannya and me caught it down the river!" She said with bubbly excitement. She held up the frog for him to see. Aoshi's lips quirked up a bit, "Aa.."   
  
He took the frog from Misao's hands and held it in one of his. "Come on, Misao-chan. Let's return this kaeru back to the river." He knelt down and offered his back to her. "You can sit on my shoulders." Misao eagerly got on his shoulders, grabbing a handful of hair. "Wai wai! I'm ready, Aoshi-sama!" Aoshi nodded and stooped low to pass through the door frame.   
  
I watched as they went out, and overheard Aoshi say, "When we get back, you're going to take a bath, alright?" I smiled a little, hearing Misao's energetic reply. I resumed my washing the dishes, silence filling the air again, save for the clinking of the utensils.  
  
*****  
*****  
  
I woke up with a start. Sitting up on my futon, I looked around my room. Seeing that everything is in order, I wonder who or what woke me up in the middle of the night by the looks of things outside my window. The air was crisp and cool, not too hot, not too cold and not too windy. There weren't any sounds from outside that was disturbing, just the slight rustle of the leaves on the trees that were swayed by the cool wind.  
  
I laid back down on my futon, seeing that everything was in order. I was about to drift off to sleep when I heard a sniffle on the other room. Misao... The walls were thin and sound can easily drift through them. I got up and silently crept to the wall and leaned on it. I listened closely and heard her muffled sobs. My heard constricted as I imagined her under the covers of her futon, her shoulder and chest racking with half stiffled sobs, and her face contorted with anguish. Now I know very well that she still hasn't goten over Aoshi. It's been 6 years... since he's been gone and still.. even now that she's 16 years old... she still cries for him. Most especially when.. she found Okina and Aoshi fighting. It really must have pained her so much to see two people whom she held close to her heart try to rip each other's hearts out. I sighed softly and listened again. She must ahve falled asleep.. I got up and walked silently back to my futon. Pulling the covers back over my body, I whispered, "Misao-chan... If only you knew..." I yawned, "... that Aoshi loves you so much..."  
  
*****  
  
On her bed, Okon stirs a bit and then sleeps on.  
  
The wind outside her window rustled the leaves of the trees and a far-away bodiless voice whispers, "Remember..." And then there was silence.  
  
---------------------------  
  
Misao groggily opened her eyes, and moaned. Her head was spinning and hurting badly. In fact, she was hurting everywhere. She winced and looked around, the smell, the surroundings seemed alien to her: the dim light, the cardiac monitor, the tube.. the pain. Itai... Damn crazy drivers... Her eyes landed on a dark corner and on a sleeping form. She squinted and tried to focus. //Raven hair, strong build... ice blue eyes..// She gasped as she rested painfully back on the pillow. "Aoshi-sama..", she whispered before she sank back in the welcoming warmth of sleep.  
  
---------------------------  
  
"Aoshi-sama...", I heard her call. I murmured sleepily, "Misao..."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Authoress' Notes:  
  
I'm already working on chapter 4!^__^ Yippe!^^ Honestly, I feel so... determined to finish this!^___^ I hope you enjoyed this chapter!^__^ It's a tad bit long.. but not long enough to make up for the first 3 chapters I sent.. -.- Geez.. Anyhow, I hope chapter 4 would be long too.. ^^ 


	5. Chapter 4: What Heck?

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Noburohiko Watsuki. 

Chapter 4: What Heck?

She flopped to her bed with a sigh, lifting her head and reaching behind her to undo her pony tail. She laid back down, eyes to the ceiling. The day's events were a blur to her. It didn't help that her grandfather wasn't there, but he was more than worried when he heard the news however thankful he was that she was all right. It took her a lot of reassuring just to not let him cancel his business trip and come back to take care of her. It took her even more to convince her friend Okon that she didn't need her to sleep over. She knew Okon would mother her, and she didn't need that right now. She rolled to her side and closed her eyes.

Her thoughts returned to those few minutes of confusion when she woke up a few hours ago.

The room was filled with light coming in from the curtained windows. It actually felt nice, peaceful. A nurse was beside her, setting a tray of food on the bed table. "Ah," the nurse stepped away from the table to fuss over her, checking her eyes and asking her strange questions. "What is your name?" was the last thing she asked.

"Makimachi Misao. What day is it?" Her voice was hoarse, her throat felt dry.

"It's Saturday, Miss Makimachi." said a deep voice.

Both the nurse and Misao turned to the door where a doctor was standing. He took a clipboard from her bed and wrote some things in it before handing it off to the nurse who took it and excused herself from the room. The doctor introduced himself as Charles Johnson. In her mind, she thought he was too native for such a Western name. As she shook his hand, she noticed a bandage on her the back of her right hand.

"We put you on the IV drip for the night," Doctor Johnson offered, "I'm afraid you've been unconscious since yesterday afternoon."

He looked her over, explaining along the way that she was hit by a car and that the driver took her here. "I heard the nurses say earlier that he kept you company through the night," he said nonchalantly as he checked a particularly bad bump on the side of her head, "The swelling on your head is looking better than last time. I'd suggest staying away from strennuous activities for the rest of the weekend and to put some ice on it should it start throbbing. Ah.. do you have any relatives living around this area? We tried the contact information on your student ID, but there was no answer."

"My grandfather.." she paused, remembering something he told her yesterday, "he's away on a business trip.. he's in Hong Kong."

"Nobody else? No other relatives in here?"

She shook her head and stopped, it was starting to ache.

"Well, I guess I could release you.."

"May I have a classmate accompany me?" she asked timidly, looking up at him.

"Of course. Your belongings will be brought to you in a while."

He pressed a button, raising her bed up for her to be in a sitting position and rolled the bed table closer to her. "In the meantime, please have some breakfast Miss Makimachi."

She looked down at her tray, its contents consisting of a bowl of soup, eggs, sausages, two pieces of toast, and a small box of orange juice. As she started for her fork, however, she remembered what the doctor had said earlier; and without thinking, she said, "That person who kept me company, what was his name?"

"I am sorry but I cannot disclose that information." came the doctor's apologetic voice.

"But if I was injured by another person and his car, shouldn't I be given the right to know that person's name?"

"Again, I apologize, but you are a minor.. I am not allowed to discuss such matters with you."

"But.."

"Please have some breakfast, Miss Makimachi." the doctor interrupted and with that, closed the door behind him.

Misao opened her eyes, finding herself back in the comfort of her own room. She sighed again, feeling a little put out. If it hadn't been for her swollen head, she would have screamed her frustrations out of her system. "Damn that stupid driver.." she muttered, staring angrily at her clock. She was turning 18 in a week, too. "Stupid doctor.. even though he bandaged me up.." When she meets the idiot who hit her, he's got a huge thing coming to him.

In the meantime..

She grabbed a pillow and plopped it over her face, hiding under it.

Damn it all.

The throbbing in her head started again.

-----

To Be Continued

Notes: I thought I'd have a second go at this, thanks to an e-mail in my inbox and Gracey's My Pretty Misao ( /s/1355979/1/ ) which actually made me believe in good fanfiction again. My writing style changed, but I hope I can still emulate Misao's personality despite the difference with this and the past chapters. Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 5: The Brothers Shinomori

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Chapter 5: The Brothers Shinomori

_Tension ran through her body as she sat before him. He could tell she had long been planning to say whatever she was about to say to him. He could also tell she took great pains to look nice before him―she took a bath, and wore a pretty green kimono that made the blue of her eyes even more noticable._

_"I like you."_

_He knew. He could smell the jasmine on her skin, being close enough, only distanced by a tea tray and a few spaces. The day was lovely, he felt that it was going to start and end right.. Wake up, go for a walk, head to the temple, meditate, have tea.._

_Did she just confess to him?_

_He'd grown so used to listening to her random comments during their tea sessions that he didn't feel the need to say anything. It was enough to listen to her talk for the both of them. But―did she just confess her feelings to him? Years of training told him he couldn't have heard wrong. A funny feeling crept down his stomach._

_"Aoshi-sama?"_

_He's probably been meditating too much.. he just realized he was staring without saying a word. He felt slightly apologetic. She was now squirming._

_"Sorry."_

_Fleeting emotions passed her face as if she couldn't decide which to make known to him. He noticed that her eyes had gone slightly dull. Were those tears forming just now? He already knew of her feelings towards him, he's known for a while now. He liked her, too, but he daren't make a move. She was far too young for him, and what would Okina say if he suddenly started for the Oniwabanshuu's Okashira? He noticed her muscles go slack. She had hidden her face from him, her head turned down. Dare he reach out for her shoulder?_

_Then there was movement―one that was so sudden and unexpected, he didn't even have time to react. A hand was on his chest, the scent of jasmine fluttered all around him. Something soft was pressed against his lips, something else was tickling his cheek. He was so surprised by the sudden assault on his senses that, had she not held him, he would have fallen back. But oh, how he liked it._

_As quickly as it came, however, it went._

_She leaned back and smiled at him, though he could tell what she really wanted to do was to smack him. Of course, he couldn't say anything; he was too busy being stunned; though there's little doubt that he was showing it. He hoped._

_"I'm not a child anymore, Aoshi-sama." she said calmly. Where was the girl who was squirming before him just now?_

_"I like you.. no, I love you.. and all you say to me is sorry?" she frowned slightly. He didn't like the expression on her face, he preferred her smiling. Gone were the days he'd fold a paper crane to bring back her easy smile. Now, he had an upset woman in his hands; he didn't know what to do._

_"Am I not good enough for you?"_

_Of course, he still needed to do something._

_So he kissed her._

―

An uneasy feeling coursed through my back and shoulders. I rolled my neck in hopes of it easing up. I exhaled deeply, reflexively clenching and unclenching my jaw. The creepy feeling came again. I ignored it.. or at least tried to.

Damn.

I ran someone over. A girl, no less. _Her_, no less.

And this damn feeling was not going away. With a brutish grunt, I hoisted myself up from my sitting position and paced in front of my couch.

Why was I agitated? I scoffed at myself, wondering. Of course, I'd be agitated! I nearly killed _her_! I recalled yesterday's events where I rushed her to the hospital.. I remembered the waiting, oh.. the agony of all that waiting! I had never felt so scared in my life. I had never been able to fully grasp the fear I felt in those dreams until that time when it finally materialized in that ugly waiting room.

The feeling came back yet again, this time coursing through my chest. I grimaced. Was this what guilt felt like?

I released another breath and continued with my pacing. It seemed it was the only tiny thing that worked against the ugly nerve-wracking chills I had been experiencing since I left the hospital.

What was happening to me? Why was this happening to me?

From being the one who tormented my nights to becoming someone who apparently just almost turned into my roadkill, this Misao girl had strangely mixed herself into my life. Just like that. I frowned. It was too easy. This was too sudden.. and meeting her seemed to have opened up the floodgates of some other consciousness. Now I was getting fresh dreams of her; light dreams, dreams where I wouldn't find her dead on a blood-soaked floor. Somehow I felt as if there was some greater force having a hand at this. I shook my head.

Could it be? No, it was impossible.

Even now as I stopped pacing to rub the back of my neck, I could think of a million reasons why it wasn't so.

One, it was illogical. One million, I was behaving stupidly and I didn't believe in such things.

But what was the explanation for my hearing voices at odd moments? This could possibly be brought on by stress. Yes. That was it.

I stopped and sat back down on the couch, feeling calm.

Could she be all right, though?

I closed my eyes and groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. My life had been nice and peaceful before all this.

I lied down.

The creepy chills started again.

―

I opened my eyes to the sound of someone knocking on the front door. I quickly sat up and walked towards it, still feeling groggy. I rubbed my eyes and face and ran my fingers through my hair before twisting the knob open. Before me was my brother older than me by three years, Hannya. Despite our age gap, we almost always encountered people mistaking us for identical twins. It didn't help that we are almost of the same height and stature... and that our facial features were uncannily alike. Save for our differences in eye and hair color only (my brother's hair was brown where mine was dark, and his eyes were grey where mine were blue), it was for this reason that my brother slicked his hair back and wears glasses.

Though... the glasses were more for his astigmatism than anything else.

"Did I wake you?" he asked as he came in, a bag of food dangling from two of his fingers. The mouth-watering aroma almost immediately filled the foyer like a waft of perfume, strong and heady.

"I left my keys," he explained himself.

"I don't mind," I replied, realizing my hunger the moment I took a whiff of the contents from the bag. "You got maguro zukedon."

"I would have come home sooner if I had known you were this starved," he grinned. We moved on to the kitchen where he helped set the table. It wasn't long before we enjoyed the delicious tuna meal with tofu dengaku and gomaae. After dinner, we both had tea between a serving of anko manjyu.

"You didn't come home last night."

I looked at the warm green contents in my cup, "I'm sorry."

"I was worried," my brother continued, "you should have called me."

"I didn't mean for you to worry," I looked up at him and suddenly stopped, frowning lightly with worry of my own. "Aniki?"

He almost looked as if he'd seen an apparition.

"Just now, your face looked so unsure..." he shook his head as if to get his thoughts in order, "Otouto... what is the matter? I haven't seen that look cross your face in a long time."

I looked away from him to the dark, reflective surface of a glass-covered picture behind him. From where I sat, the angle of the light nicely bounced off and away from the frame, not into it. There, in a dim haze, uncertain eyes gazed back at me like a deer caught in the headlights. He was right, I realized. I hadn't made this kind of face in a long time. Not since our parents died, in fact. It had been years.. it was history. Despite the lack of a whole family, Hannya had done good with managing the small fortune our parents left us and now we were more than well-to-do with his high-paying job.

My chest shook from the chilling current of this so-called guilt that ran through it. The feeling had caught up with me now that it found me awake. I balled my fingers into my hands and clenched them in front of me on the table, looking at them as if fascinated. I owed my brother an explanation.

Who knew, he might be able to make sense of this fast-growing chaos more than I ever could.

It was a long while after I've stopped talking when he opened his mouth and spoke quietly, calmly, "This girl Misao, is she all right?"

"Yes, the doctor said she would be able to attend school on Monday if she rests for the remainder of the weekend," I answered, chilling nerves running up and down my spine. I had the sick urge to run around a track oval.

"I don't know what to make of your situation," he finally said in a slow manner, as if trying to find the right words to say. "All of these things point to the doings of destiny. No, otouto, listen to me first," he raised a palm to still my rising protest, "I know you don't want to believe in anything like it but _think_ about it. How else can you explain these recent happenings?"

"Freak accident," I muttered lamely, already seeing the pointlessness of bringing it up.

"You know better than I that you are not accident prone."

"Except for that one time where.."

"That was not your fault, otouto," he said firmly. His demeanor had changed. Steely. Cold. Like a demon whose sleep was disturbed. I knew better than to have brought it up, the subject of our parents' deaths. Was I this much in denial that I was willing to say anything to steer ourselves away from the possibility of a higher power's role in these current events?

_'I always ran away...'_

I gave a jolt, I nearly fell off my seat. My brother was halfway out of his to help me. I raised my palm out to stop him, at the same time steadying myself against the back rest. "Otouto, whatever it is, you have to stop avoiding it," he said quietly.

"Who's running away?" I asked him, "No, there has got to be a logical explanation."

"There is none."

"Just like otousan and okaasan?"

"We were all victims of circumstance, Aoshi, you know that."

"Still, there has got to be a reason why it was my car that hit her, why it was she who crossed the street at just that exact moment, why the light was green instead of red, why she bumped into me that morning...!" I brought my head to my hands, I felt tortured.

Something slid across the table to me. I looked up and saw my brother pouring himself a fresh cup of tea. I glanced at my own steaming one and picked it up, taking a sip. I calmed down.

It felt good to get these out in the open. I felt lighter, I had to admit.

We stayed quiet for a long while.

"What is Misao's last name?" he asked me.

"Makimachi," I replied.

"I know a Makimachi.." he said quietly, almost to himself. He looked at me, finally, "We will pay them a visit and properly apologize."

"What? No.."

"Quiet, otouto, and listen to yourself," he frowned at me, almost dangerously, "You need to do this for the sake of our name."

It was the least I could do to maintain my family's honor. I sighed and nodded.

"Also, we need to see if Misao-dono recognizes you for something other than a schoolmate. If this is happening to you, no doubt it's happening to her as well."

As my brother got up to use the phone, I sat back in my chair, feeling grim and wary for what laid in store for me the next day. Still, I couldn't help but poke one last notion of fun at my only blood, my only kin. "I didn't know you had strong beliefs in past lives and fate, aniki," I said to his back, "what convinced you? Did this happen to you, as well?"

I received a thrown towel to the face as an answer.

―

It was a lovely Sunday morning. It was by all means normal: people leisurely strolling down the street, birds twittering and rustling their feathers, watching the small crowds below. The sun was occasionally showing itself, sometimes hiding behind cotton-candy clouds as if playing a secret game of hide and seek. The day was just beautiful, and everyone noticed it. From the normal hustle and bustle of every day, they all slowed down.. just this once..

Among the people enjoying the day was a family of four having breakfast at an outdoor cafe. The first thing that would cross one's mind should one see them was that they were beautiful people. They represented the ideal that every family strove to achieve: perfection, flawlessness, a sense of closeness. The father was tall, with a full head of hair the color of rich chocolate; his eyes were a deep blue, one could get lost in them. He had the face and chiseled, tanned body any marble worker would dream of using as a model. One could tell he was strong in many aspects, but right then his facade was softened by the company he was with.

It was said that behind every strong man was a strong woman. In this aspect, that strong woman was tall, fair-skinned and very rosy. Alone, she turned heads with her long dark hair that shone like lacquer, and even when accompanied by her family she drew attention. It was lost to her fathomless grey eyes for she had her attention fixed on her husband and her two handsome boys. It wasn't lost to her husband, however, who oftentimes turned to return a hard look to a few lecherous eyes.

It was a fact known to everyone the moment they saw them, that their two boys would grow up to be handsome men. At first glance, it was hard to tell one from the other. It was a common misconception to take them for twins. In fact, one was older than the other. The eldest, the one with his father's hair and his mother's eyes and complexion, was quiet and reserved. He was a good head taller than his brother, the youngest, who had his mother's hair and his father's eyes and complexion. The youngest one was the most carefree, smiling and bubbly if not a little shy.

At the moment, the two boys were misbehaving and throwing bits of pancake and toast at one another.

"Hannya-kun," their mother regarded the eldest child, "you know you should set an example for Aoshi-kun."

Hannya, who was just about to slap a large pancake onto his brother's face, relented and wiped his hands on a napkin. Aoshi, however, took this moment as an opportunity to take his buttered toast and plop it on his older brother's head... which he did much to the dismay of their mother. "Aoshi-kun!"

Their father laughed.

Hannya, whose hair was now snowed over with crumbs and butter, pouted and complained to his mother, "But 'kaachan, look at what he did!"

Aoshi laughed.

As their mother cleaned off the crumbs from Hannya's hair and shoulders, their father turned to the giggling Aoshi, gently saying, "Aoshi-kun, that wasn't very nice."

Aoshi, slightly humbled and slightly apologetic, turned to his older brother, saying, "I'm sorry, aniki."

"That's okay," Hannya grinned.

"Ah! Misao-chan, no!"

The four occupants of the table simultaneously turned their heads to the scene unfolding next to them. A scrawny boy with big eyes and spiky hair was covered with bits of scrambled egg. He was so surprised by the onslaught that he couldn't move, his eyes (if possible) quite larger than usual. The two boys blinked in wonder at the laughing girl whose hands were caked in bits of egg. As Misao's mother profusely apologized to the other table, Misao herself looked at the two brothers and grinned at them, her blue black hair bouncing in their pigtails, her ocean-colored eyes sparkling with delight.

They grinned back.

"Hyottoko!"; "Shikijou!"

Two other tables were in a commotion as a rather chubby boy and a square-faced boy hit each other with sausages. The two brothers were amazed. Although they didn't realize it, they just had their first glimpse at a chain reaction. "Oh dear.." their mother worried. "Aa, it'll be a wonder if they'll still allow us to come back.." their father said, slightly amused and chuckling.

"Okaasan," Hannya said, "Otousan," Aoshi said, "are we in trouble?" they finished together.

"Of course not.." their father smiled at them. "It's not your fault, dears.." their mother assured them.

Another noise came, then. But this time it sounded different. It was urgent, the sounds of screaming and panic. Their parents turned to look at the source, it was a deranged bespectacled man, wielding an automatic rifle. Horror-faced, they both grabbed their children and ran. Screams filled their ears, the sounds of gunfire rattled their chests. Both Hannya and Aoshi shut their eyes as their parents took cover, laying over them. "Don't move," they said quietly, fiercely, "whatever you do, don't move."

Above the din, the raving man was screaming, "I won't let you get to me first! I'll kill you all!"

Aoshi began to whimper. He didn't know what was going on. To his five-year-old mind, all he could discern was his parents' fear and the fear of the others in the establishment with them. He felt someone grasp his hand and turned to his brother Hannya, who mouthed, "It's all right.." He nodded, his face tear-streaked.

In the brief moment of silence, Aoshi could hear someone crying. "Okaasan! Okaasan!" He craned his neck, peering through the gap by his father's elbow, and saw one of the many scenes he would be haunted by for the rest of his life: a blood-soaked girl crying over her dead mother. His eyes widened. The children whom he saw laughing mere seconds ago were now lying on the ground, unmoving.. covered in red. He squirmed. The girl was still crying, and he knew without someone hiding her, she would end up like the other children too. He squirmed again and freed himself from the confines of his father's arms.

"Aoshi!"

"Hannya!"

He ran. He needed to help her. He knew he was small.. the man wouldn't see him. For sure the man wouldn't be able to shoot at him. He got to the girl and pinned her to the ground. He felt someone on top of him, screaming, "What do you think you're doing?" It was Hannya, his face contorted with fear and anger.

The gunfire started again. Over it, a distinct maniacal laughter. "You can't protect them! Foolish idiots! They're meant to die!"

The weight over the both of them doubled, and got heavier by the second. Both Hannya and Aoshi looked up only to find their faces covered in warm blood. The screaming never ended, the manic laughter never ceased and the gunfire echoed through the streets like a roaring thunder.

That day would later be regarded by everyone who was old enough to remember as the Cafe Rifleman Incident. Dozens dead.. only three children, now orphans survived.

―

To Be Continued

It's about time. This chapter's solely dedicated to properly introducing Aoshi's (and his brother Hannya's) roles and their history in this story. If you look close enough, you might be able to get a hint of their personalities. I sorta had a bit of fun with kiddie-fying Aoshi's posse and took the liberty of de-scarring Hannya's supposedly mangled face to fit the timeline. In reply to **YamiYugi342**'s comment, what this story lacks is coherence and a brain. I'll do my best to make up for it in the following chapters and hopefully, the first few abominations-for-chapters will be forgiven.

A little terminology lesson:

**aniki** - older brother

**otouto** - younger brother

**okaasan/okaachan** - mother

**otousan/otouchan** - father

**maguro zukedon** - rice meal with tuna sashimi and avocado

**tofu dengaku** - boiled tofu with sweet miso sauce

**gomaae** - spinach salad with sesame seeds

**anko manjyu** - steamed cake with simmered sweet azuki bean filling

Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 6: Of Ruminations and

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Chapter 6: Of Ruminations and Memories in Hiding

_"Misao-chan."_

_I stopped my little game with my pretend Aoshi-sama and turned to the person whose voice I had grown to love as much as my Aoshi-sama's. "Hannya-sama!" I cried, jumping up and raising my arms out to him. Hannya-sama was very very tall, he was even taller than Aoshi-sama, and that was saying something because Aoshi-sama was very tall, too. Hannya-sama picked me up and I made myself at home in his arms, playing with his shirt collar._

_"Now, Misao-chan, you know what I said.."_

_"But Hannya-sama.."_

_"Unless you want me to call you Misao-sama," he teased._

_"No! I don't want that!"_

_"Well then..." he trailed off, looking at me expectantly._

_I pouted at him and relented, "Hannya-nii.." I smiled when I received a hug in return. I know I could always call him Hannya-sama in my head._

_"That's the most favorite word I love hearing from you." he said warmly, his voice muffled by the ever-present demon mask that covered his face._

―

"Hold on." Misao said to the ringing phone, wincing in annoyance. She was just about ready to spend the whole day on the couch, watching rerun episodes of the shows that she missed that week. She was glad that her head didn't hurt as much anymore, otherwise she would have thrown the offending phone in the trash for causing another headache. Walking over to the hallway, she picked up the cordless handset sitting on a stand. "Hello?"

"Ah, my lovely Misao!'' cried the other end of the line.

"Hi Jiya.."

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm doing much better, thanks.. it doesn't hurt that much anymore."

"That's good. I'd just like to tell you that I'll be home after lunch. I finished up my business here fairly quickly," her grandfather said proudly.

"Ah, congratulations," she smiled slightly.

"Has there been any word from the person who hit you?"

"No, not yet."

"I'll handle everything," her grandfather assured her, "Until then, stay put and take care of yourself, okay?''

"All right."

Just as she was about to sit down on the couch, the phone rang again. She growled, "Jiya! I get it, already!" Still, she went and answered it anyway; grumbling and muttering along the way. "I know, I know, Jiya, I'm not to go out wandering by myself without someone with me this time. I get it, okay?" she said as she answered into the receiver, not giving the caller any chance to explain or identify himself.

"Could this be Makimachi Misao, by any chance?" a different voice answered.

Misao blinked and stammered in embarrassment, "Ye-yes, this is she." She stopped and frowned, the voice felt familiar to her somehow, "Do I know you?"

"I'm afraid not, Misao-san," the other line said, apologetic, "May I please speak with Makimachi Nenji?"

She disregarded the nagging feeling at the pit of her stomach and replied, "He's currently away on business, but he'll be home after lunch. Maybe you can call then."

"Ah.."

"May I know who this is, please?"

A pause on the other end. "Shinomori Hannya. Thank you for your time, Misao-san."

As Misao replaced the receiver on its cradle, she absently murmured, "Hearing him say Misao-san sounds really weird.."

Again, she wondered where she had heard that voice before. It sounded very familiar to her, and she felt angry with herself for forgetting. It seemed to her that the person was very important, but that was where she drew a blank. Did she know a Shinomori Hannya? The only important people in her life were her Jiya, her cousin Omasu, and her best friend Okon. She was too young to remember her parents, and she was too old to bother trying to anymore. Her grandfather did a good job in raising her, and she was grateful to him for that. But somehow it made her sad to think about this one person she couldn't even remember. It seemed like she was supposed to..

She heard the familiar opening tunes of her favorite show and ran off towards the couch, forgetting everything else.

"I'm home, my pretty Misao!" called Makimachi Nenji from the front door some few hours later. Misao got up from the couch and turned off the television, walking towards the foyer. "Okaerinasai, Jiya." she smiled, allowing herself to be crushed in one of her grandfather's trademark bear hugs. It was gentler this time, though, she noticed and saw that her grandfather had a very worried look on his face. "Jiya?"

Her grandfather brushed away a stray lock of hair from her forehead, "Did you know how scared I was when you didn't come home the other night?"

She looked down, biting her lip. The stray hair that her grandfather had just brushed away returned to its place over her forehead. "I'm sorry, Jiya." she murmured quietly. She felt him wrap his arms around her in another, even gentler hug. "I'm just glad you're safe now.." he said gruffly, "I wouldn't know what I would do if I had lost you, too."

"Jiya, don't talk about things like that.." she said reprovingly, yet lightly. She didn't like it when her grandfather suddenly got all sentimental, most especially when that sentiment was sadness. She removed herself from the embrace and smiled at him, taking his bags.

"There's some sliced fruit in the kitchen, Jiya, and someone called earlier. I told him to call again at around this time."

Sure enough, the phone rang just as she reached the top of the second floor stairs. She had previously concluded that the man might have been one of her grandfather's business associates, being well aware of her grandfather's excessive bragging of his 'very lovely Misao.' Also, the business associate might have called the house sometime before which counted for the fact that she somehow recognized his voice.

She did all that in the span of a commercial break.

As she reached the kitchen, however, she wasn't expecting the ghost-like expression on her grandfather's face. "Jiya?" Misao asked timidly, wondering if something went wrong in the business deal her grandfather had just accomplished. She sat down on a chair across him when he motioned for her to take a seat. It took a long while for her grandfather to voice his thoughts out loud, and she was almost getting worried.

Surely the deal wasn't that bad?

Just when Misao's thoughts were turning to bankruptcy and life in a cardboard box, her grandfather cleared his throat.

"That person who called a while ago.. he was the one who hit you."

Misao stared. Clearly, she hadn't thought about her situation at all. Her grandfather explained that they would be coming over in an hour, and that she were to get ready. She didn't know who _they_ were, _they_ were beyond her comprehension at the moment. There was even doubt she heard her grandfather talking. Was she just imagining things?

One thing was clear on her mind, though, and that would be bodily harm. Any sort of it. A whack to the head, a kick to the shins. It didn't matter. She just wanted to hit someone for the state of confusion she was in at the moment. She didn't know why.

She was seated in the living room moments later, changed out of her pajamas into a casual pair of dark jeans and an orange shirt. Her hair was clamped into a bun at the back of her head; a few strands were loosely hanging down the sides of her face. Her grandfather was sitting across her, looking serious. He had assured her that he would take care of everything, that she needn't say anything. She was fine with the arrangement. They were now just waiting for their guests to arrive.

A pot of fresh tea sat on a coffee table, surrounded by four empty cups. The spout was steaming lightly upwards in short hazy shapes. It was at that time of the afternoon when the sunlight wandered in the room as a near-orange glow. Had there been little dust particles in the room, they would have been dancing in merriment, their little bodies reflecting whatever light they could.

The doorbell rang.

Her grandfather squeezed her shoulder lightly as he stood up and went to open the door.

Misao felt anxious, hearing muffled conversation as the door opened. She looked down at her hands on her lap. What was she so scared of?

Was she scared that her offender might finally have a face in her haunting dreams? Was she afraid that she might never be able to cross a street again without thinking about what had happened to her?

No..

She admitted that she might never get the scene out of her memory, but she'd never be afraid. She was Misao. She was not one to be permanently affected by petty trauma.

"Ah.. Misao."

She looked up towards the doorway where her grandfather stood behind two other men. One was slightly taller than the other and had glasses, but they both looked the same. No, they almost looked the same. For the second time that day, she was struck with a strange sense of familiarity. She frowned, feeling like a person suffering from amnesia. Could she be? No, the doctor made sure she wasn't crippled with anything before he discharged her from his care.

Her grandfather came forward and sat beside her, gesturing for the two men to take the couch across them.

Misao had sense enough to pour them all a cup of tea. The bespectacled one almost looked as shocked as she as he thanked her for his tea. He kept staring at her, even as he stood by the doorway. Was there something on her face? The other, the one she recognized as a schoolmate―what was his name? Okon would kill her for forgetting―nodded his thanks, avoiding her gaze. Her grandfather murmured his thanks, not touching his tea. He cleared his throat instead and introduced to her the two men as Shinomori Hannya and Shinomori Aoshi. Brothers.

She looked at the both of them, blinking. So they were brothers. That explained the mirrored resemblance. They both looked handsome, almost unnaturally so. Misao, who didn't usually think about such things, found them to be the type of people who turned heads on the streets.. more so when they were together. She mentally shook herself out of her thoughts. Now wasn't the time to ponder over such things.

"I believe Aoshi-san has something to say to you, Misao," her grandfather said quietly.

The younger man, the one who avoided her eyes, stood up and walked over to her side where he got down on the floor and bowed. The girl exclaimed, standing up in surprise. What did he think was he doing?

"I am deeply sorry for bringing you harm. Please forgive me," he said from his position at her feet, his forehead nearly touching the floor, "Please let me pay for the hospital bill and for any medicine you might have used for your pain. I humbly apologize for my actions."

He was making her uncomfortable and flustered. She remembered him fully now, he was the person she bumped into the other day. She remembered the way he said her name, the way it brought a blush to her face. Seeing him down on the floor before her made her panicky. "No.. wait.. please.. please get up," she said, her arms before her as if to ward off his apology, "Aoshi-sama, please."

Misao stilled; eyes wide, fingers to her lips. It was as if a current had shocked the whole room. All three pairs of eyes were on her, equally surprised. What had she just said?

Misao's face flamed with color, with embarrassment. She looked down at the man on the floor to find him looking at her almost fearfully. Why was he looking at her like that? "I.. I'm sorry," she apologized, herself. "But please.. don't bow like that, don't bow at all. Please get up, I'm sure we can settle things as easily if you were just sitting down." She sent her grandfather a look. How could he have allowed such a thing? He knew she hated formalities.

Silence invaded the tense atmosphere. At her request, the man stood up and returned to his seat. The puzzled girl sat back down, pondering on her own actions. What had caused her to say his name with such an honorific? Another feeling crept up in her then. Aoshi cannot be Aoshi to her without calling him Aoshi-sama. There was something in calling him Aoshi-sama that made everything feel so right for her. But oh.. she couldn't! How could she? She didn't know him! He was just a few years older than her! How could he be any different from her?

Her grandfather cleared his throat, drawing the audience to himself. "I don't see why you should only come forward now," he said severely, "You've had all of yesterday to call." He glared at Aoshi, "You were even at the hospital yet you fled when you heard that my granddaughter had awakened."

Misao blinked, recalling what the doctor had said about the driver keeping her company throughout the night. She looked at him. His eyes were cast downwards as he said, "I felt the circumstance was improper for such an important confrontation. I'm sorry."

At her side, she felt her grandfather cross his arms. She understood Aoshi's reason. She knew that if he had stayed, everything would have been more awkward than it was now. Still, she frowned slightly, she would have preferred it over seeing her grandfather roast the man. But then again, her grandfather was just exacting his revenge on the younger man for the sake of his injured granddaughter.

"If we may," spoke a familiar voice. Misao whipped her head up in surprise. It was Hannya, the older one, speaking. The voice coming out of his lips was the exact one she'd been so familiar with. She stared at him as he addressed her grandfather, "We would like to pay for the damages done. My brother as well as myself, we're both truly sorry."

"It's too late." she heard her grandfather say wearily, "Everything has already been paid off.

"However," he said in a stronger tone, "if you're so eager to pay for your faults, see to it that my granddaughter is escorted to her school every day." He looked at Hannya. "I want you to drive both my granddaughter and your brother to their school. You told me that he's attending the same university as my granddaughter is. I don't trust him to drive around like that, and I don't trust the streets with my granddaughter."

Misao looked horrified as her grandfather delivered the brothers' punishment.

"You've no right to argue," her grandfather continued stonily, "I know you, Shinomori-san, I've heard of you. I'm sure your associates won't mind if you're late."

Silence drifted in again as the brothers absorbed their sentence. The sun, as if also bearing the weight of the punishment, hid behind a few clouds. The glow inside the room dimmed, sending the far wall into shadows. Makimachi Nenji stood up, the others following suit. "I will see you at 7:30 on Monday," he said to them. Turning to his granddaughter, he murmured, "Please escort these people to the door, Misao." With that, he left the room. The remaining occupants could hear his retreating footsteps on the stairs.

Misao sat back down.

"We will see ourselves to the door." the older brother offered, motioning to exit. The younger turned to follow.

"Please wait.." she said to them. She bit her lip as they both turned to look at her. She swallowed. It was now or never. "I know that Shinomori-senpai goes to my school," she enunciated his name clearly, as if to apologize for what she had said earlier, "So I'm not much bothered by what I felt when I recognized him." She's not dumb. She noticed the recognition in Aoshi's eyes when she called him by the honorific. It made her wonder, but there was something more pressing at hand that she needed to know.

The two brothers sat down.

She looked at the older brother. "Shinomori-san.. I know we've never met. You made it clear to me on the phone that we've never crossed paths. But why do I get this feeling that I'm supposed to know you," she glanced at the both of them, "the both of you?"

Neither brother spoke for a while. Misao bit her bottom lip and fidgeted, wondering if she went out of line in her query. After a while it was the older brother who said, "I apologize, Misao-san, but I don't recognize you at all." He stood up, "We must leave, we have overstayed our welcome."

At the door, she pushed her luck. She was sure of her feelings, however fleeting her memory might be, her instincts never failed her. "Shinomori-senpai!" she called out to the younger brother as they walked towards their car. "What about you?" she asked him. "Do you feel as if you know me, too?"

Aoshi stopped, merely looking at her, and caught himself from bowing, nodding his head at her instead. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

They didn't recognize her. But she saw the looks on their faces. She knew she wasn't mistaken.

She shut the door and leaned against it, securing the lock on it.

But maybe the hard hit to the head had rattled both her brain and her senses.

Misao felt like a fool.

―

I closed my eyes and ran my hand over my face. Even in this life, the old man was as harsh as ever. I leaned back and cast a sideways glance towards my brother driving beside me. "Aniki.." I mumbled.

"Aa."

"How come she recognized you, too," I asked him, "and why did you deny her like that?"

"For the same reason you didn't answer her, otouto."

I stilled. Was he also afraid of facing her? "But it's inevitable," I said to him, "After what her grandfather said today, isn't she bound to know sooner or later?"

"Then we let her remember in her own time."

I looked out the window. I still had my doubts about the idea of a past life. After all, that girl's actions could be explained by post-traumatic stress disorder. She could be imagining things. However, my curiosity was piqued. How did my brother come to know her? I was surprised at his reaction when he saw her in the living room. It was as if he saw a ghost of sorts. I didn't believe in ghosts either.

Still.

"You haven't answered my other question, aniki."

―

To Be Continued

Oh this ugly habit of single-scene chapters! Should I keep at it or should I switch back and forth like an angry beaver? I also just realized that my facts in this story are inconsistent (I introduced modern Misao as an 18-year-old in chapter 1 and track-backed her age by a year in chapter 4). This teaches me to leave a story hanging for over five years. I'll definitely revise the first four installments little by little as I work on the next chapter. I'd also appreciate the harshest criticism you can come up with. I'll do my best to improve.

Oh, has anyone read the latest installment of Audrey Bogart's **All In The Name Of Cement Shoes**? Funny scene, that one.

Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 7: Finding Denial in Egypt

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Chapter 7: Finding Denial in Egypt

_"Ooookkkooooonnnn... Where's Aoshi-sama and Hannya-sama and everyone else?"_

_The older girl looked up from her dishwashing to find a groggy Misao at the doorway of the kitchen. The poor girl had slept restlessly, her yukata was nearly falling off one shoulder and her hair, loose from its braid, was all over her little self. Quickly Okon dried her hands on a dishrag and came forward, taking the girl's hand and walking her back to her room. "Oh Misao-chan, they went somewhere to buy something."_

_Those little excuses of somewheres and somethings would become oft used to explain the sudden absences of the girl's playmates._

_Slumber was quickly overriding her curiosity; still, the little girl queried, "Will they be back soon?"_

_"Yes, they'll be back real soon because they can't bear to be away from their Misao-chan for too long."_

_"Okay."_

―

"You!"

It was study period. Misao looked up from her physics book to find her friend Okon looking more than just a little flustered and out of breath. The girl was near-bursting. Her usually well-combed, pristine long hair was all over her shoulders and front, making her look like a ghoul. Misao was alarmed; Okon would never let herself go like this. As she opened her mouth to voice her concern, the other girl slammed her palm down on the desk, drawing the attention of some classmates.

"You," she said again, their faces nearly touching.

"Okon, are you"―

"You came here with him," the flustered girl hissed, her eyes wide. Misao could almost say those eyes were feral.

"Okon, I"―

"Admit it!"

"Yes, but"―

"Oh, I _knew_ it!" Her friend turned away for a moment to take a chair from the desk in front of the seated girl. "So," Okon started as she sat down, looking at her expectantly. "What happened?"

Misao blinked, "What do you mean, 'what happened?'"

"You know what I mean! You call me up at ten in the evening to tell me I don't need to drop by and pick you up because Shinommmph-!"

"Okay, okay." Misao had effectively clapped her hand over her friend's mouth; looking at her alarmingly, warning her to keep quiet. The girl quickly kept her things in her bag and, standing up and shouldering her messenger bag strap, turned to her classmates with an apologetic smile. She then dragged her friend by the hand with her to the hallway.

"You sure are jumpy for someone who doesn't care about appearances," Okon remarked when they had stepped onto the campus courtyard. Misao had made her promise to keep quiet until they were out of earshot from anyone that might hear them; and it was true, for someone who cared less what gossip flew around of her, it was rather uncharacteristic of the girl to play cloak-and-dagger now.

But there was something different in this instance. There was something different about _him_, and it wasn't the kind of senseless garbage that she often heard girls squeal about either. Her kind of senseless garbage was... different.

"I'd have no appearance to not care about after his horde of worshipers are done with me," Misao finally spoke, releasing her grasp on her friend's hand. It had suddenly dawned on her just how admired her upperclassman was when she found herself shot with more than a dozen shocked and dirty looks when she alighted from the Shinomori's car that morning.

"Oho," Okon laughed, sitting down on a bench shaded by a maple tree. The weather was warmed by the sun, and it felt cool to be in the shade. "So you really do care!"

"About my life, yes." Misao joined her on the bench, "I nearly died, remember?"

A swat on the arm. A yelp.

It wasn't something to joke about, not even lightly, and never with Okon. Misao apologized, humbled by the moisture that glistened in the other girl's worried eyes. The younger girl had forbidden her from visiting all weekend, and even declined the offer of a ride. Vocal assurances over the phone weren't enough, not for a person whose friend had nearly broken open her own skull.

"So," Okon said after some silence. Misao saw that her eyes were clear again, and that she had finally taken notice of her disheveled appearance and was taking care to correct it. She told her friend everything that happened over the weekend; especially the confrontation.

Beforehand she had thought of telling her about the dreams and the honorifics, fearful that Okon might conclude that her brain had been addled by the accident; but if there was anyone she could trust with telling, it was Okon.

So she did.

"You must have known each other in a past life."

Okon didn't disappoint; she was the type to believe in past lives and fate and destiny and some such others. The breathy, dreamy manner in which she spoke her thoughts gave little reassurance to Misao, however. She had a feeling that from this point on all she would be to Okon was a young adult fantasy novel to read and observe. Knowing this hurt her a little.

"Whatever's happening, Misao, you know you've got me, right?" Okon's voice drew the younger girl from her thoughts, and she saw her friend smiling at her. "I'm not an expert or anything," Okon continued, blushing slightly, "but if you ever need someone to talk to.."

Misao's heart lightened. How could she have been so doubtful of her friend? Even if the Shinomori brothers were going to deny her the satisfaction of knowing anything, she at least had the assurance of knowing she wasn't going to go through this by herself.

The thought was comforting.

"Thank you, Okon."

Silence.

"Mm.. now about this group of mysterious ninja in your past life, why did one of them have to be the awesomely attractive Shinomori Aoshi?"

"Well, it's not like I had a choice in picking who got to be who."

"Way to get the hot guys, Misao-chan."

"Mm..."

"Does the brother have a girlfriend?"

"Okon!"

―

_The shock in her eyes was evident as he drew back from her face. His hand that held her fast and rooted her to the spot was still on her cheek. He had tasted the sweetness of oranges on her lips, and of her lips themselves, softness._

_Divine._

_He tasted divinity in her lips, and it took him all he had not to kiss her a second time. She was so open, so vulnerable. This was exactly what he had been avoiding all this time, wasn't it? What was different now; now, that she had told him first, mistaken his words―curse these treacherous words―for rejection, and touched him?_

_Quietly, he waited for the surging feelings of guilt; the distress that would consume him for committing such an act against his okashira. He waited for a voice to tell him that what he had done was wrong. He waited for self-disgust to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, to tell him to back off from the child he had helped rear all those years ago._

_Nothing. Nothing, except for serenity, and the warm spark of need kindling in his chest. Nothing, except for the timidity and confusion in her dazed, wide eyes._

_Her eyes were beautiful._

_He eased his delicate hold on the side of her face and lightly brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. So soft..._

_"W-what..."_

_"I wasn't done with what I had to say, Misao."_

_...and, because he could no longer resist her eyes nor his desire for the feel of her, he came upon her lips once more._

_Because it felt right._

―

I was worried about her.

Knowing that I was worried about her also had me worrying about myself. Why should I have to bother about this girl who was apparently connected to my past life?

Because she was connected to my past life. I answered my own question.

But I was worried. Makimachi-san's terms have been in effect for three days now, and while I have prepared myself for any sort of prodding she might throw my way, she had done nothing of the sort. In fact, aside from apologizing for the inconvenience her grandfather's terms have brought my brother, she had fallen into the routine of greeting and saying what her dismissal time for the day was.

If this was a tactic of hers to get me to talk first, I had to give her credit for all the wrong reasons. Simply put, her silence was unnerving; even more her bolting from the car (as if it was on fire) the moment it stopped at the school. It was as if she couldn't stand to be in my company.

Why was that?

My thoughts were interrupted by the vibrations of my phone. Taking it out of my pocket, I glanced at the flashing screen long enough to know who was calling. I answered.

"Aniki."

"I'll be there in half an hour. We had a late meeting."

"All right."

What an opportunity. I was already heading towards the building where I knew her last class would be as I pocketed my phone. A glance at my watch told me that I had ten minutes until she came out. I started up the stairs.

The little detail of finding out exactly where her classroom was wasn't so hard. A quick question to a passing security person gave me what I needed. So as I sat at a bench across the door, I waited.

I didn't have to do so for long. The door swung open, followed by body after body in laughing chatter. At the end of the procession walked Misao with her back to me, her hand on the door. "Thanks, Professor. See you next week!" Laughing at something I couldn't hear from my position, she turned and walked out.

...and stilled. I stood up.

The clack of the door closing shut defined the silence in the hallway.

She turned her head from one side to the other; she looked ready to run. I was half-tempted to reach out and grab her, to pull her down on the bench and not let her escape. Was I that disgusting that she couldn't even bear the sight of me?

Did she dream the same dreams I did?

Instead I nodded to her in greeting. "Hey."

Her eyes when she turned them to me were uncertain. "Hi," she greeted back. Her hands were playing with the sling of her bag. I wondered if she was just nervous around me.

I glanced at the closed door, and decided to try and break the ice. "How was class?"

"It was okay," she raised a shoulder in a shrug and shifted onto one foot. Now her eyes narrowed on me, "What are you doing here?" Suspicious. I was amused despite myself, yet somehow glad that she was talking to me.

"My brother won't be here for another"―another glance at the watch―"fifteen minutes." I looked at her again, "He had a meeting."

"Oh.." She blinked and looked down. Her hands had stopped playing with the sling and were now stationary; I wondered if her knuckles could get any whiter.

I regretted not telling her anything about what I knew when she had asked, if this was the result of my silence. There was nothing I could do about that now without initiating anything.

"Did you want to go somewhere?"

"Ah.." She shook her head. "Not in particular.."

"Want to have a coffee downstairs then?" Since she showed no indication of pursuing the topic that was clearly on both our minds...

"In fifteen minutes?" she asked incredulously. Still, she started to move for the stairs. Following her, other thoughts aside, I replied, "True, service isn't that great."

"Along with the coffee itself."

I felt the corners of my mouth quirk upwards. "Tea, then?" I suggested.

"There's something good, but I feel like having orange juice."

I glanced sideways at her, and saw her smile. She was so unguarded that watching her was refreshing.

Something like relief filled me as we crossed the floor towards the coffee shop; she, skipping ahead and myself walking in her wake. Watching the happy bounce of her bound hair made me think that maybe I've only been imagining things after all.

She was already talking with the man behind the counter when I stepped in. "Hiya, Kuro! Slow day?" I heard her say.

"Hey, Misao," the man grinned, "you just missed the stampede."

"Lucky!"

"Will it be the usual, then?" the big man asked, already moving to the beverage display. He plucked a bottle of orange juice from the set upon the girl's affirmative and placed it atop the counter with an "Anything else?"

"Yep! Tea, um..."

"Green tea, please," I supplied at her unspoken query, seeing his head disappear below the counter again. I slightly wished that she would treat me in the same way she was treating the man. "Chilled. How much?"

"Two hundred fifty total," the man named Kuro replied, already back on his spot behind the cash register. Both beverages were set on the counter next to the machine.

"Hey, hang on a minute," she protested as I handed over the amount. "Mou! That's not fair!"

"Did you want something to go with your juice?" I asked, noticing her frown as I took the bottles from Kuro with a word of thanks aimed his way.

"No, but I could have paid for it myself."

"Consider it a treat," I said, passing the orange juice to her and twisting the cap off my bottle of tea.

"Well... thanks," she muttered, holding the juice to herself. There it was again. It was only a treat; it would seem odd if I didn't pay for her beverage as well, right?

"We've got a couple of minutes. Want to head back out?" I asked, motioning for the entrance.

"Ah.. yeah."

I was baffled when she peeked beyond the doorway and immediately made a beeline for the table closest to the corner of the little shop. Having previously glanced at the interior, there were only two other patrons (professors) besides us; and casually looking outside, there was a small crowd heading towards their various classes.

I looked at her as I approached the dim corner. She was busying herself with her juice, saying with a light laugh, "Ahaha! Maybe we should sit for a while. Enjoy our drinks a little... ne?"

"Aa."

She really didn't want to be seen with me; if looking at her obsessively focusing on the orange juice was any indication of it. I glanced at my watch again and took a step back. "I just remembered," I murmured, "I have something to do."

―

"Aaahh... looks like you chased him off, Misao."

The girl shot a glare at her burly friend who now sat opposite her at the table in the corner. Kuro's shift was over, and he had apparently taken an interest in what he had seen a while ago. The two teachers had left for their classes a moment after Aoshi departed. For the moment, the shop was theirs.

Misao groaned. Was she that transparent? But what business was it of his to suddenly surprise her like that anyway? He even knew where her classroom was, for crying out loud! She nearly had a heart attack when she saw him.

"What? Misao rejected another one?" asked Shiro from behind the counter. It was he who relieved Kuro from his shift.

"Not just another one," Kuro said, turning to his friend, "_the_ one, if you know what I mean."

"Big one?"

"That's the one."

"Oh, you mean Shino"―

"Have you two got anything better to talk about besides my life?" she asked in a shrill voice, scowling.

"So he's your life now, is he?" She focused her scowl on Shiro's smirking face. Misao knew that he knew what she meant; that by saying what he did, he just wanted to get a rise out of her; and it was working. Dimly she wondered why she was even bothering to go out of her way and deny any involvement―blossoming or otherwise―with the man who ran her over.

Because he was _different_; that was why she was reacting to Shiro's and Kuro's taunting. Because... because...

Because Shinomori Aoshi wasn't anonymous.

She had to apologize to him.

As she tossed her empty bottle in the garbage bin on her way out of the Fine Arts building, she had already trashed a handful of ways to say sorry.

As she stepped into the back seat of the idling car, she had already lost her resolve to apologize.

―

To Be Continued

This is a sad case, updating after exactly a year. I started this chapter last May, and wrote the bulk of it towards the end of September after much head-banging against the wall. Trying to make out the ideas from the bloodstains is a difficult process. I am battling with myself on how to pace this story the same way Misao is deliberating on whether or not to tell anyone (Okon) about her sudden twist in life. At least in writing about _that_, I had no problems.

Do you know the reason why authors make great stories? It's because they always have at least one person to brainstorm with them. As I am an idea miser, I have no such miracle of a person to interact with (and of my current acquaintances, I have none interested much in RK to bother). I also wasn't around the AMML (Aoshi Misao Mailing List in Yahoo!) long enough to cultivate any bonds when it was at its most active, and all of the fragile ones I've made have been lost to... hammerspace.

Ages. It's been ages, and I feel lonely. ; . ; )o

Ah... Is anyone interested in roleplaying Rurouni Kenshin? It's a forum roleplay setting, and its current characters are Saitou and Sano. Everyone else is up for grabs (even Tae and Sae). Please head on over to winglicans . com / ? board = 276.0

There are also other RP series such as Fruits Basket, Get Backers, Bleach, Ouran High School Host Club, and Gravitation. : D Please feel free to send me a message for questions (I'm known as Mirai^ on Winglica).

Apologies. ;; I've rambled.

Thank you for taking the time to read everything! As always, comments and criticisms are welcome. _(10.09.07)_


	9. Chapter 8 Pt1: It's a River in Egypt

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Chapter 8 - Part 1: It's a River in Egypt After All

_I peered through the small gap surrounded by leaves wet and cool from the recent rain. In comparison to the sun beating on the top of my head and everything else around me, it was better and prevented my face from sweating. I just wished it could prevent the rest of my body from sweating, too. The temptation to just leap into the cool, giant bush was there, tickling me, but I couldn't._

_I had a mission…_

…_and my target was just by the stream with his back to me. Easy pickings. I could do this in my sleep!_

_Slowly, quietly, I removed myself from the shrubbery. I was careful not to step on any twigs or rustle any leaves, and with the added moisture, I had to strengthen that mantra. Water would only add even more noise and my cover would be blown and that would be the end of me and I couldn't let that happen._

_Breathe._

_Extricating myself from the bushes went without noise, and I was thankful for that. Now I just had to cross the open space to actually get to him. This was going to be hard, but I'd be able to do it._

_I crouched low and tiptoed into the open. I was careful to keep myself as small as possible, and as I watched my shadow shrink to about a foot in length before me, I crept forward. Every blade of grass was now my enemy in the battle for silence._

_The heat made my face flush; the previous coolness offered by the rain-damp leaves was long gone. Curse this heat._

_Ten feet. Eight feet. With the distance of five feet left between us, I could clearly hear every trickle of the water in the stream. The sound of it muted the rustling of leaves behind me as the wind played through them. I was so close now._

_Should I run? Should I pounce?_

_Just as I was making my move, he stirred._

_"Hello, Misao-chan," came his muffled voice._

_The wind came our way, blowing my hair from my forehead and cooling the perspiration that formed there. His gi rustled as he shifted to look at me. I couldn't read his expression―his real one―from behind the demonic and mocking face of his mask._

_I pouted and sank to the bed of grass beneath me, defeated. My mission was a failure. "No fair, Hannya-nii.." I whined to the grass. "You weren't supposed to know." The sun hadn't completely reclaimed the rain from the green, and I felt my sweat mingle with the raindrops and the dew. It felt wonderful._

_His quiet chuckle roused me from my commune with the green stuff. I imagined how his smiling face was like, and for the nth time wondered about the face behind the mask. "You were close, though," he said. "How long were you watching me from the bushes?"_

_It was enough to send me sitting upright, all idle thoughts gone from my head. "Hannya-nii knew all along? But I did the same to Popokon and he didn't even notice me until I jumped on his belly and made him scream!"_

_His quiet chuckle gave way to outright laughter. "That's your new nickname for Hyottoko, is it?" At my mischievous grin and nod, he asked, "He was sleeping when you did that, wasn't he?"_

_My shoulders slumped and my grin disappeared. I bit my lower lip and nodded again. Now that I thought about it, the reason why Popokon hadn't noticed was probably because of his own loud snoring. I stopped sulking, however, when I felt Hannya-sama's comforting hand on my hair. "Don't worry, Misao-chan," came his voice, "you're almost there."_

_Smiling, reassured by his assessment, I nodded and shifted my arms to rest under my chin. I just needed a little more training. Soon… Soon, I would be able to join Aoshi-sama and Hannya-sama on missions. I wouldn't have to wait for them to come back anymore. I would be with them forever. I kicked up my feet and felt the cool breeze blowing at the dampness on my legs. "Hannya-nii, where's Aoshi-sama?"_

_"He'll be back soon."_

_"Okay."_

―

The weather was behaving very oddly lately, Misao had mused when she had woken up shivering in her cotton tank top and shorts. She had kicked off her blanket and had thrown open her window the night before because her room felt stuffy. A simple glance at her very disheveled sheets was enough to make anyone think so, too. What really bothered the girl enough to give her a fitful rest, however, was Shinomori Aoshi.

She had never minded his silence before. She thought it was just in his nature to be silent, and from her days in riding to and from school with him, it was a very reasonable assumption. They had never exchanged so much words between them until yesterday.

What a curse it was, yesterday, and what a blessing, too.

Misao's hands stilled as she was tying her hair, her eyes coming to focus on her alert reflection in the mirror. Why would she think it was a blessing? Hadn't she thought it mortifying all throughout the night, having been seen with him by her two friends? Hadn't she fervently wished for him to have minded his own business in purchasing his own beverage? Hadn't she mentally pounded herself for even thinking about her ritual bottle of orange juice, knowing that Kuro was there; and why in the world did she ever agree to getting a drink with him in the first place?

Blessing! Ha!

She secured the elastic on her ponytail and brushed her bangs to the side of her face. She was being neurotic far too early in the morning. Already she could imagine Okon twittering around her; pestering her for details or, worse yet, urging her to apologize and talk with Aoshi. There was no way in heaven, hell, nor the afterlife that she was ever going to tell Okon about anything ever again.

As an afterthought, she wondered why it was Okon she was focusing all her attention on. It wasn't like Okon had ever done anything wrong. But then again, wasn't she the one who encouraged Misao? Okon never cautioned her against anything. Okon never told her to keep away. Okon never…

Too much, too much for something so early in the morning.

With a sigh that seemed like she had been living for centuries, she shouldered her messenger bag and came down the stairs. Stopping by the foyer to set her bag down against the door frame, she straightened up and walked to the kitchen for breakfast.

Her grandfather was sitting in his usual place at the table, his morning newspaper propped open in his hands.

"Morning, Jiya."

After fetching the carton of orange juice from the fridge, she made for the sliced bread on the counter and stationed herself beside the toaster where she began to construct her breakfast of marmalade and bread. While waiting for her toast, she poured some juice in a glass and drank.

"Misao, what's the matter?"

Setting the glass down on the counter, she said with a brief glance towards her grandfather, "Nothing, Jiya."

"You made quite a lot of noise upstairs."

"I always do."

"More than usual, my darling Misao."

"I slept with the window wide open."

Tensing and clearly expecting another of her grandfather's boisterous laughter, Misao was a little alarmed when only silence met her ears. She turned to see her grandfather looking concernedly at her. The newspaper was folded away to one side of the table. The cup of tea beside it seemed to have stopped steaming. What was this?

"Misao, you might catch a cold."

"I'll be fine, Jiya. I should be wondering more about you," she replied, leaning against the counter, her eyes still on him, "You're acting a little strange."

"Ahh..." her grandfather sighed, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Must be these old bones speaking too fondly."

Just like that, Misao was suddenly aware of her grandfather's old age, and how frail he looked with that soft smile on his face looking at her so affectionately. He was worried for her; she realized for the nth time how her recent accident must have greatly shaken him. He and Omasu were all she had left. …and, despite her own assurances, worry seeped into her own heart. Right then and there she silently uttered a mental prayer to keep him healthy and guarded from harm.

"I'll be fine, Jiya."

It was a while later that she was feeling…odd at her sudden predicament.

It wasn't that she wasn't relieved at this unexpected phenomenon, not at all. In fact, she was grateful. But she couldn't help but wonder (and ignore as she might, she really was concerned).

"U-um…"

She hadn't wanted to disturb him while he was driving, but now that they were at a stoplight she decided to venture against the silence. To be honest, Misao was surprised to have found the older Shinomori waiting at the other side of the door that morning, and was perplexed when she found no sight of her upperclassman in the car. (And while she usually sat in the back seat, she now occupied the front passenger side. She now had full view of his rather striking profile―a profile which she imagined how Aoshi's would look were he a few years older. For the questionable pleasure of those reading, she mentally berated herself for allowing her thoughts to stray.)

"Aoshi doesn't have classes today," Hannya spoke to answer her unspoken question.

"Oh…" she murmured, and then blushed when she realized that today the older Shinomori was specifically going out of his way for her alone. Misao stuttered and stumbled out an apology for being a bother, completely forgetting for the meantime that the Shinomori's duty to drive her to school was the family's punishment for her accident.

"It is no burden," was the reply she received as she watched Hannya drive under and past the now-green light. "I admire your grandfather. I would react the same way if Aoshi were injured."

"Like a deranged psychopath?" Misao asked under her breath, averting her eyes to the car window. She felt only embarrassment from her grandfather's decree. Why couldn't the old man just demand financial compensation and be done with it? Why prolong this awkwardness?

"Yes, like a deranged psychopath," Hannya chuckled mirthlessly as he kept his eyes on the road. "Aoshi is my only true family left. I would try to protect him with all I've got. If it means subjecting the offending party to servitude, then so be it."

"Oh," she murmured, her mind still on her misfortune to be bundled with an overprotective grandfather. Then her lips formed a very small 'o' as understanding dawned on her, the man's words finally sinking in. "Oh," she turned to him, "oh, I'm so sorry, Shinomori-san."

"Think nothing of it, Misao-san, it was a long time ago."

Their conversation petered out to silence. Both lost in their own thoughts as memories came unbidden; one barely remembering anything, the other remembering everything but even then, the pain they both felt was the same if not different at the same time. They both lost something that day, and no matter what the differences in their individual circumstance, they both lost the same thing.

They lost a part of themselves.

It wasn't long before they reached the campus, and Misao was pulled from her reverie by the car coming to a stop. She cast a small smile to him as she gathered her bag and unbuckled her seatbelt. "I lost my parents a long time ago, too," she murmured softly, as if picking up where they last left off in their stilted conversation. "I don't remember very well, of course," she paused as she opened the car door, "but still.

"I know how you feel, Shinomori-san."

―

"_Hey, Hannya-nii?"_

_They had spent a considerable amount of silence together at the riverbank. The wind had started to pick up again, a cresting breeze that whistled through the fangs of his mask and into the eye holes, caressing the mangled skin of his cheeks. He had quickly learned in the first few months of helping the Okashira to care for her that long bouts of silence was not something the child tolerated._

"_Yes, Misao-chan?"_

"_Do you ever miss your mama and papa?"_

_He looked at her; she was looking up at him expectantly, her chin lifted up from where it rested at the heel of her hand only seconds ago. How was he to tell her that his parents were long gone, that he didn't remember a thing about them, that things like that were the furthest from his mind? He took a breath, and uttered the sum of his thoughts._

"_O, sad and lost innocence."_

"_What does that mean, Hannya-nii?"_

"_It means that my parents are part of the things I miss."_

_The young girl was still for a moment, before saying softly, "I know how you feel, Hannya-nii. I feel that way too."_

―

"_I know how you feel."_

It was with those words that she left him, and it stayed with him as he drove to work. Her words; the same words that she had uttered as the younger child he saw in his dreams. It seemed that even in this life Misao still had the ability to forge a solidarity that he had experienced in the glimpses of his past life with her. He felt reassured that some things refused to change over time.

Hannya was by no means knowledgable in past lives. He hadn't even really believed or understood them until a few years ago. The dreams he thought were just the figment of his overactive subconscious slowly solidified into recollections of happenings too eerily accurate to be made up. The wars, the spying techniques, the weaponry, the people and political figures. It was too real, too bloody for his then thirteen-year-old mind to fabricate.

For the longest time he had passed it off as a recurring nightmare, a twisting of an image imprinted in his mind at the traumatizing age of seven. The blood. The death of his parents. All that blood. It had always started with the blood. The screaming. But something always happened in his dreams that changed; a turn of the head, a slight twitch of the arm muscle. The scene would then dissolve and he would be running; running and leaping and flying through the air. It was very liberating to him, very calming after all the endless screaming. There would still be blood, but the Hannya in his dreams wasn't the scared Hannya he was; this Hannya was very proud of what he did. Whatever person this Hannya took down was taken down majestically; every life taken by this Hannya had an air of significance and ancient honor. Every kill was done with purpose, every move was calculated. Beautiful, even.

It only took a year for Aoshi to start appearing in his dreams as his leader. It was startling to Hannya to see his brother's dream self so devoid of emotion, but even then the cold and precise way that the Aoshi in his dream worked was a thing of beauty to behold as well. There was a simplicity in the way Aoshi's kodachi sliced through the air to dismember a limb or behead a man that made Hannya appreciate the fluidity of the movements his Okashira executed.

Those dreams fascinated him in his childhood, and gradually fed his desire to know just what exactly they were about in the only way dreams could show him: in snatches of scenes and faded conversations. Oniwabanshuu. That was the organization that the Hannya in his dream was part of. The Oniwabanshuu was a vast network of ninjas specializing in securing and procuring information during the Tokugawa era, two hundred years of cunning and intrigue at the beginning of Japan's westernization: the end of the shogunate.

It was hard to research about the Oniwabanshuu. Ninja clans were persecuted for being too out of fashion in the new world. They eventually died out. The only proof that such organizations existed were a few lines in history books, mere whispers of acknowledgment in the roles they played during the battles immediately prior to the Meiji regime: from Boshin up until the fall of Edo.

It was harder to separate himself from the man of his past life. He would often wake up, adrenaline coursing through him from a successful mission; or he would wake up gasping from a phantom injury his dream self had sustained. All the same, he would wake up exhilarated. He would often think of his dreams, his past life-he would recount them to himself in his mind, you see; and were he in front of a mirror, would be surprised to find his eyes dilated, his nostrils flared as the definite expression of bloodlust coursed through his countenance.

This mortified Hannya.

While the Hannya in his past life was a man of strict discipline, the present Hannya had no training whatsoever. He was a modern boy, a modern man who knew only what books would tell him of war and the ways of ninjas. He didn't know how to process what he saw, and he was scared of what it was turning him into. Often he was afraid of getting out of the bathroom, his expression so frightfully demonic that he was sure to lash out on his brother at the breakfast table. Often he had to labor over his appearance, forcefully adjusting his facial muscles to relax over his brow and around his mouth to achieve a semblance of normalcy.

Over the years he had exerted this hard discipline over his facial features. Every morning he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, steam swirling around him and misting at the edges of his reflection as he exerted that discipline to cover his haunting face with a mask of calm. Aoshi was none the wiser.

But the dreams changed a few months ago. They became more domestic with the coming of a tiny girl with eyes the color of the ocean and hair that shone like a raven's feathers. Misao.

He had wondered why he saw nothing beyond that of the girl in her toddler years and her earlier youth. Something had happened. He knew that Misao and Aoshi's paths met still later in life, he knew that much from what Aoshi had told him. But where was he in all this?

It was either their circumstances changed, or his.

His frown grew as a new thought came to him; the dreams, particularly Aoshi's dreams. How could Misao change so much in a span of years? What had happened in those years? Obviously she had grown, but there was something Aoshi wasn't telling him, and Hannya knew that it was a vital piece of information that he was leaving out.

What could have happened that made Aoshi so hesitant to tell his own brother? Hannya never realized that there were things that even brothers, close as they were, couldn't share with each other. His inner demon, for one, and now Aoshi's secret.

A shiver crept up his spine, the kind that left a person uneasy for a good while. It was best to leave such a matter to Aoshi himself; Hannya trusted his brother to know what he was doing. But from the lost look that adorned his younger brother's face the other day, and the bewildered expression he held throughout last night, Hannya was sure that he was going to be around for as long as he was needed.

The small sense of satisfaction did little to quell the rising uneasiness brought on by the unseasonal shiver, however. It was like a feeling of foreboding, and it wasn't until he had reached the employee parking space underground that it had gripped him completely, leaving him a slave to its fear-inducing wake.

It was like he was supposed to die, long before he had come to this age.

―

To Be Continued

Hi. Long time. It seemed I needed some growing up before I could continue this plot in the way I intended it to go. I figured I needed to give Hannya a "mask" in the modern world to tie him to the life he led in the past. But what is his role in this story? That's information I'll keep hanging over the heads of those who haven't realized it yet.

And Misao... she'll right herself in the next chapter. It usually takes 3 or so days for the brain to adapt to situations, or so BONES says.

Part 2 will hopefully be out in a few days or so, and it will be solely dedicated to our bewildered ice statue.

I have also rewritten chapter 1 completely. It is no longer something a 5th grader wrote.

My heartfelt thanks go to you, reader, who have read past the ugly first few chapters up to this point. I hope I have not confused you. (_12.10.10_)


	10. Chapter 8 Pt2: So Let's Cross It

Disclaimer: RK belongs to Nobuhiro Watsuki.

Chapter 8 - Part 2: So Let's Cross It

_He was addicted to her. Every movement she made enthralled him. Everywhere she went, he followed. Soon, he was trailing her through the market and accompanying her on walks. His trips to the temple lessened until he stopped going altogether. Was he cured of his self-imposed madness?_

_...or had he jumped into a different type of madness altogether?_

—

"Good morning," came her light and even happy greeting as she slipped into the back seat of my brother's car this morning. I was surprised. Where was the shy and uncertain lady that had hung around all week?

"Good morning, Misao-san," my brother answered easily next to me. I stared. He even had a small smile on his face. "You're in a good mood today," he ventured.

My brother was even being chatty?

"Oh, Shinomori-san," she said, leaning forward before she could fasten her seatbelt. "I meant to tell you this yesterday but I got carried away."

"What is it?"

"Just call me Misao," she chirped, and leaned back to buckle up. She was all smiles today. It was eerie to see, and yet it felt like the sun had finally come out after days of being hidden behind dark clouds.

I looked towards my brother to see him smiling too. "All right, Misao," he said. "Just call me Hannya."

"Hannya-san?" she asked.

"Hannya." he insisted.

"Hannya," she repeated with a grin. Her gaze finally settled on me, and she faltered. There was something disturbing in how she seemed to lose a bit of her cheer when she looked at me, and my guilt over causing her accident worsened. I would have thought she would ignore me altogether, but instead she gave me a small smile and said, "You can call me Misao, too, Shinomori-senpai."

"Ah," I murmured, mystified by her smile, "call me Aoshi."

"Oh, I can't," she replied, her eyes widening slightly. "Okon insists that I should call you 'senpai.'"

Beside me, my brother chuckled and asked, "And do you always do as you're told?"

"Nope," she said with a little unrepentant smile. "But I do this for my own safety. Did you know Senpai has some fans on campus? They can be mean when they want to."

"Is that why you've been rushing from the car all week?" I asked amid more of my brother's amused chuckles. I was reminded of what Honjou had told me a week ago. Was it possible that Honjou really had been telling the truth? It was still hard to believe. But Misao said so.

She shrugged, looking a bit sheepish, "Yeah, kinda." I nodded and turned my head back ahead of me. It was only part of the reason, of course. Majority of her avoidance, whether or not she was aware of it, was because of what I did to her.

"But...you know," she said thoughtfully. My attention flew to the side view mirror where I could see her gazing outside her window. She leaned against the car door. "I think I'll stop running today," she said. "Thumb my nose at them and stuff. It'll be the perfect gift to myself."

"Gift?" my brother echoed. I was half-thankful that he was trying to keep her talking, half-terrified that he was trying to keep her talking. What was he trying to accomplish? My gaze wouldn't move from her image in the mirror.

"Yep," Misao nodded, "today's my birthday."

"Happy birthday," we both greeted in surprise. "You should have told us earlier," my brother added. "We could have gotten you something."

"Nah," she shook her head. "I don't want anything."

"But what about your phone..?" I asked, finally turning around to the back seat as I remembered how her cellphone had lain in pieces on the street. I repressed a shudder at the memory and willed myself to stop thinking about the rest of what had lain on the asphalt.

"Oh, Jiya took care of that," she said cheerfully and reached into her bag. She pulled out a thin, silver flip phone and showed it to me. It looked brand new. "See? Now the old man can keep bugging me all day again."

The phone in her hand immediately rang loudly with the old man's unmistakable voice doing an off-key rendition of You Are So Beautiful, startling the both of us and further amusing my brother.

"Geez, Jiya!" she said as she answered it. Her face took on a bright red hue. "You even customized your own ring tone?"

I glanced at my brother as I looked back to the street ahead.

"You're pretty happy today, Aniki," I said quietly. In fact, since yesterday, he had been...chipper. The word wasn't something I'd usually associate with my own brother. Until now, I had never really seen him happy; amused, yes, but not happy.

"This is treason," Misao went on. "I'm canceling your favorite swimsuit magazine subscription. What?"

"It's a pretty good morning so far," he agreed with me. "Don't you think so too?"

It was obvious we were both trying to give her as much privacy as possible, but it was hard to mind one's own business in an enclosed space. Misao wasn't even trying to lower her voice anyway, and I found that I didn't mind. The quiet Misao unnerved me.

"Eh, hang on. I'll ask them," she muttered, then gasped. "No, Jiya! Wait, I said I'd"—she cursed at her phone before shutting it. "Stupid, crazy, impulsive, rude old man!"

I almost sympathized with her, but I was more curious about the feeling of having grandparents than commiserating over their nosiness.

"Jiya would like to invite you both to dinner tonight at the Aoiya," her sullen voice drifted from the back seat, accompanied by a quieter grumble. "More like an expectation than an invitation. Cantankerous old geezer."

"I'm free tonight," my brother said amiably. There was an odd twitch at the corner of his mouth that tipped me off to him having heard her grumbling too. "What about you, Otouto?"

"What time?" I asked, and added as an afterthought, "My classes end at seven tonight."

"Jiya will just have to adjust the reservation, since he did expect you to be there," she quipped. "How about eight? Eight thirty? Would that be enough time for you to go home and freshen up? My cousin will be picking me up today, so you don't need to worry about me."

"That's fine," Aniki said with a nod and asked, "Are you partial to anything, Misao?"

"What do you mean?" came her puzzled reply.

"What do you like?" my brother tried again.

"You're not fishing for gift ideas," she admonished. "But if you insist, I love chocolate."

"Which kind?" I asked.

"Senpai, not you too?" she asked in dismay. "I really mean it when I said I don't want anything."

"But you love chocolate."

"Well, yeah..."

"So which kind?" I asked again, fighting the urge to smile at her mutinous expression. I didn't know when I moved to look at her again, but I was glad for it. "You may as well tell us, or else you may get chocolates that you don't really like."

"That's impossible," her eyes widened, as if the idea of not liking any kind of chocolate was inconceivable to anyone. "I like them all!"

"It's very possible," my brother chose to make his presence remembered. "Aoshi doesn't like fruit in his chocolate."—my face grew hot at the revelation—"He's very picky when it comes to chocolate."

"Chocolate isn't chocolate when it has _things_ in it," I said stiffly, leaning back against my seat and facing forward once more. Otherwise, it would be things _with_ chocolate; not chocolate at all, I reasoned silently to myself.

"Are you the kind of person who thinks white chocolate isn't chocolate? My friend has a term for people like those..._chocolate prude_?"

My brother chuckled. "That's exactly what Aoshi is: a prude."

I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and lock myself in the glove compartment out of embarrassment. Misao and my brother were being chummy. Something had happened yesterday to cause it. Despite being embarrassed, I felt left out. I wanted to get past the awkwardness with her too.

Again, I was unnerved by my desire to further my involvement with the lady. One would think that after meeting the lady who haunted one's dreams, one would wisely stay away. That clearly was not the case with me, and beyond the petty feeling of envy, I couldn't fathom why. It was peculiar, because as far as I knew about myself—and I should know, I lived with myself for twenty-two years—if I touched a flame and knew it could burn, I wouldn't touch it again.

...and it hit me with startling clarity that I paused mid-stride out of the car, causing my brother some concern and prompting me to move and absently bid him goodbye.

"I'll call when I'm on my way, and we can get her gift together later."

"Aa."

I hadn't touched the flame yet. The curiosity still needed to be sated because I didn't know this Misao. Apart from the similarities in looks and name, both the Misao in my dream and the actual Misao were a mystery to me. The temptation was there. I _wanted_ to know her.

Yes. It still made me uneasy to think that I was more than willing to act on my curiosity, but I was more assuaged in the fact that I was not doing anything unnatural. I could overlook my sudden enthusiasm.

"What time is your first class, Senpai?" came a voice next to me.

It was fortuitous that the object of my thoughts was walking alongside me. She was incredibly short; she only came up to my shoulder. Her eyes were the most inquisitive I had ever seen; wide and clear and so...

"In half an hour," I remembered to answer, and only then did the oddity of the scenario strike me. She was walking so naturally next to me that she belonged there. I felt almost pleased. "How goes thumbing your nose at the masses?"

"Eh. I wouldn't know until my friend starts sharing the gossip with me," she made a face as if gossiping was beneath her. "My class doesn't start til an hour later, so I can walk you to yours." She flashed me a grin that I was sorely tempted to return with one of my own.

"How about I drop you off to wherever you usually stay at until your class starts?" I suggested instead. It felt odd to have her walk me to class.

"Ugh. If you must," she groaned. "I was hoping to prolong my freedom."

"You sound like you're walking to an execution."

She laughed. "Execution," she tested the word on her lips, looking thoughtful. "Yes, that's exactly what's going to happen. They'll pick me apart 'til I bleed out and die."

A graphic vision of her body bled out and dead flashed before my mind's eye, and I had just enough of my wits about me to suppress a shudder.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, sensing my discomfort despite my best efforts to hide it. "Too gory, huh?"

I wordlessly nodded as I held open a door for her and followed her inside. We effortlessly weaved through the human traffic, cutting through the Battlefield with surprising ease. The Battlefield was never this easy to navigate through on Fridays. Luck was on our side.

"I wouldn't trade them for the world though," she continued thoughtfully. "They're unique. Just like you, Senpai."

I looked at her dubiously. She nodded at my unspoken question. "I met each of my friends through unusual circumstances. I hit one with a ball, spat at another with juice, and you ran me over."

The way she said the last part was without malice or bitterness, but instead of easing my conscience, her words only seemed to pitch it into a deep decline. The shame I felt seemed to want to swallow me whole and drown me. "Misao..."

"Hey, hey, hey," she said sharply. She grabbed my arm and urged me to face her. Her expression was...determined. Her ocean-colored eyes had taken on a sharper hue, framed so between long dark lashes. It was a stark contrast, and I couldn't help but look into them. "There was nothing you could do, okay? And look," she waved her arms and jumped, not caring at all that she was flailing around and causing people to jump back to avoid her. "I can still move freely, and better yet, I'm alive. No harm done, Senpai. Okay?"

I could only nod mutely at her, amazed beside myself that she went through such lengths to put my worry to rest. She almost seemed like she was indestructible. I almost wished that was so.

"Besides," she said a few moments after we started walking again, "if you hadn't run me over, our paths would never have crossed and we would never have been friends."

"We're friends?" I asked, looking at her. The last time I had seen her, she was desperate to leave my company, to not be seen around with her.

Her expression was concentrated as she seemed to be gathering her thoughts. After a while she nodded and said, "You've got a point. Wanna be friends?" Her gaze was unwavering and open. Her eyes were so expressive. I could tell that she was nervous about my response just by looking at her eyes. Did she expect me to say no?

"All right." Of course I would agree. This was what I wanted after all: to get to know her better. Friendship covered that objective, never mind the fact that she had a juvenile way of going about it.

Misao seemed almost relieved as she stopped and grinned widely, offering me her hand. "Makimachi Misao," she said. "I'll promise to cheer you up no matter what."

Her hand was so small covered in my grasp; so small and so soft. So fragile. How could she seem so strong? My second objective came to me then, almost like an epiphany. "Shinomori Aoshi. I won't let anyone hurt you."

A puzzled look came over her face for a split second. Then, like clouds parting from the sun, she smiled. "What," she laughed, "that's such an odd thing to say, Senpai."

Because I wanted to protect that smile, because I wanted to never let her turn into the haunted Misao in my dreams, I merely quirked my lips. "Someone has to make sure you won't get hurt while making more friends."

"Oh, ha ha," she said dryly, though the smile remained on her lips. She pulled back her hand, and it was only then that I noticed how bare mine felt without it. "I have a bodyguard now. Well, it's a good thing you know how to make a joke."

"Is that so?" I asked, following her as she started around the corner.

"Yes. I may be able to tolerate you yet," she grinned and stopped with her hand on the glass door to the Little Courtyard. "Well, here's my stop. Thank you for walking me here."

I nodded, stopping just a foot or two away from her. I was finally starting to feel glad I could be of some use to her. "Have a good day," I greeted before walking ahead towards the stairwells for my class on the third floor.

The day went by in a blur as Fridays usually did for me with one class melting into another. By the time my brother came to pick me up, I was wishing for a nap. But the thought of seeing Misao again during dinner at the Aoiya was enough to endure a few more hours of wakefulness. After stopping by a popular chocolate shop and a quick stop by the apartment for a world record shower and change of clothing, we made it to the Aoiya at about the same time as—

"Honjou," I said with surprise at the man by the entrance waving at us. He was in a bright red dress that barely reached mid-thigh. Thankfully that much leg was covered by black leggings.

"Good evening, Aoshi-san," he greeted once we were close enough. "Our birthday weasel told us you would be coming by so I volunteered to look out for you." As I introduced them to each other, his gaze moved from me to my brother, to whom he held out his hand, "Aoshi-san's brother! Handsomeness must run in the family."

"You look lovely as well," my brother returned, taking his hand and releasing it. "It's good to know my brother doesn't keep to himself in school."

"Oh, you and I both have the same worries, Oniisan," he simpered. "Every day I wish for Aoshi-san to make lots of friends..."

I let their disturbing pleasantries drift as I followed them inside the establishment. The Aoiya was an upscale hotel fitted with the classic Western European design and all the modern amenities. By the looks of the people, the hotel catered mostly to wealthy foreigners and businessmen. So this was the Makimachi's business.

An elevator trip took the three of us to the second floor. The ornate doors slid open to reveal a stunning view of the balcony overlooking the lounge area below. A short walk down carpeted halls led us to closed double doors. A gilded sign propped up by the side said, 'Princess Misao's Birthday Party.'

My brother chuckled, apparently having seen the sign also.

"Okina loves his granddaughter," Honjou commented with a smirk. So the Makimachi called himself Okina. The thought passed absently by as I watched Honjou open the doors and lead the way in. Immediately upon opening, the din from inside wrapped around us as we followed him. "I'm back," he was saying with a flourish, "and I've brought these two delicious guests!"

A hush seemed to fall over the large round table surrounded by people. Everyone turned toward the entrance. I recognized a few people I had seen once or twice around campus; the rest I assumed were relatives. It was unsettling to be stared at by so many people.

"Oh shut it, Kamatari," a long-haired lady piped up amid the now-silent table. "You brought them for yourself."

"Don't mind Okon, she's drunk," Honjou said in a stage whisper.

"What!" Okon squawked, red-faced; and just like that, the noise started up again. Everyone returned to their food and chatter as the elder Makimachi stood and walked towards us with a handshake and a sake jug. He looked dangerously red-faced.

"Welcome," he greeted jovially and promptly handed us each a sake cup, pouring in a healthy amount. "So glad you could make it! Eat! Drink! There's lots!"

It was a stark difference from the menacing aura he emitted during the brief meeting at their residence.

I unwittingly gulped down the liquor, the first of the many mistakes I would commit that evening, though at the time I was blissfully unaware of it. As it were, the cup in my hand was immediately refilled, and this time I chose to savor the unusual taste of the wine. I would admit that I never tasted liquor before, and the taste intrigued me. I ignored the gleeful look the older man was sending my way, as well as the cautious side glance my own brother granted me.

"May I ask where the birthday girl is?" my brother inquired next to me as we were seated next to each other. The seat next to me was empty, although its plate was filled with food.

I set down the cup as I looked around the table. Sure enough, there was no such lady with bright eyes and swinging ponytail flitting around the table. Why did I expect her to do such a thing? It seemed natural to assume her in such a manner. I fondly recalled her limb-flailing in the corridor earlier in the day.

"She'll be back to greet you two, not to worry," the old man was saying. He stood behind me and refilled my cup 'til it was near overflowing. "Drink! Drink!"

I didn't know why I didn't just politely refuse. The only thought in my mind was that it would be rude to refuse the host's offer; and it was obvious the Makimachi was the host of the evening. He was pouring everyone a drink, except for the large man next to a slight woman with a resemblance to Misao. That man had his own jug.

I lifted the cup once more to my lips and drained it just as the door opened again. This time, a lady stepped through. She was dressed in a midnight blue dress that hugged her thighs. In fact, the dress seemed to wrap intimately around her body. It was a very nice body. Her hair was around her shoulders in light waves, but it was her eyes that caught my rapt attention.

"Who'd have thought the weasel could clean up, right?" came Honjou's remark from where he was seated next to my brother.

I could only stare even as my brother rose to greet her and give her his gift. Obviously it was chocolate; the nutty kind that smelled really good.

"I told you I didn't want anything," she was saying to my brother, who only smiled indulgently and said, "You won't be saying that later. Aoshi got something for you too."

At the mention of my name, I jerked to my feet, reaching into the breast pocket of my shirt to pull out the small wrapped box nestled there. I intended to get her chocolates as well, since she loved them, but chocolate was perishable. I wanted to get her something that would last a bit longer.

Her expression was uncertain as I handed her the box. "Happy birthday," I said.

"Really, Senpai, you didn't have to..."

"I think you would like it," I replied, and turned to sit back down. A full cup of sake was waiting for me, and I reached for it with the finesse of one who had been drinking all his life. It was amazing how so much deception lied in movement.

Misao sat next to me a moment later, and I belatedly realized that I had been seated right next to her, that the empty seat next to mine was hers. She beamed at me, tucked her hair behind her ear and turned to talk to the person on her other side.

_Plunk_.

I looked to my right to see my brother heap some food on my plate, but my reprimand died on my lips when I noticed Honjou was eagerly piling serving upon serving of food on my brother's excessively full plate. Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds, and I quietly let him transfer some of his food off. I was glad I wasn't seated next to Honjou.

"Aoshi!" Okina popped up once more behind me, reaching over to refill my cup. "How do you like the house wine, eh? We make our own here at the Aoiya."

"It's good," I answered, obligingly taking a sip from my full cup. I was careful not to slosh the contents all over myself when the old man thumped my back with a laugh. "Good!" he cackled, "It's manna from heaven!"

"Jiya, stop throwing your jug down his throat," Misao finally turned from her companion to scold the old man and shooed him away. A scowl was on her pretty face, which I thought made her look prettier though I preferred her smile over it.

Before I could weigh the merits of prettiness between a smile and a scowl, Misao took a smaller serving container of the sake and set it down between our plates. "Here, Senpai," she said, "but before you take another sip you must eat."

"Of course," I murmured, setting down the half-full cup and reaching for my cutlery. My plate was now decently full, thanks to Honjou's and my brother's efforts.

"Senpai?" I heard Misao's companion say next to her. "You go to the same university?"

"Yes, it's where we met," Misao answered.

"He's cute, Misao-chan," her companion whispered conspiratorially. The woman was a terrible whisperer, and I was forced to keep a straight face as I nearly choked on my food. "Congratulations."

"Omasu! It's not like that!"

"Aoshi, are you all right?" my brother asked beside me. "Your face is red."

"I'm fine," I mumbled, reaching for my sake cup to wash down the discomfort in my throat.

"Here, Senpai," Misao volunteered, refilling my cup. "Is the food all right?"

"Yes, it's delicious," I said honestly. My brother and I had never cooked proper meals a day in our lives. Our daily fare consisted of instant meals and takeout. Compared to those, the food on my plate was a welcome respite. It was well-made with the freshest ingredients, there was nothing reconstituted about any of the bits I tasted.

"I'm glad to hear that," she smiled. I was dazzled.

Perhaps then I could blame my next action on said bedazzlement, because I added, "You look beautiful tonight, by the way," to which she blushed prettily and mumbled that her cousin had forced her into the get up.

It was after everyone had finished eating and started on other festivities like karaoke that I learned that the woman seated next to her was her cousin, and that the man by her cousin's side was the cousin's husband. Upon introduction, he narrowed his eyes at me, said how I couldn't hold my liquor, and took a swig directly from the sake jug in his hand.

But then the cousin, Omasu, asked what I thought of Misao. From that point on, the night simply just unraveled before me. Horror upon embarrassing horror slipped from my lips to everyone's entertainment.

"She's beautiful," I said with a smile. "Very beautiful."

"You think she'd get a boyfriend with this outfit, Aoshi-san?" Honjou piped in.

"Oh yes, I think so. It's working at least."

"Do _you_ like my cousin?" came the horrified voice of the cousin's husband.

"Yes," I said.

That was my first true undoing.

—

To Be Continued

"I hit one with a ball, spat at another with juice, and you ran me over." Misao speaks of how she met Okon, Kuro and Aoshi respectively in this story's history(?). As for Shiro, she kicked him between the legs (unintentionally) when she was reaching over the counter to mop up the mess she made on Kuro. You're already aware that Kamatari flashed his junk at her. She does have a lot of odd first impressions, yes?

Aoshi assumes too much in this chapter. _Everything_ is eerie and unsettling to him. I want to hate him and make things difficult for him. But his personality thwarts my efforts at every turn, except for when it comes to Misao who ruins the mood of this story though so...

Do not you worry your pretty little head about the lack of angst. It will return.

Chapter 2 has been rewritten now; and filled with the usual college inanity only college peoples could manage. Is it not too far from high school? I thought so too; or at least there was little change in my experience.

Is it not unusual for Misao to not suffer any residual aches and pains from her accident? That's one thing I overlooked in writing after chapter 3. But it isn't that important. Really. I'll just mention it in passing.

I did lie about this chapter coming out fairly soon. I was caught up in reading trashy romance novels. I assure you, this was for researching on the writing style employed by such authors: heaving bosoms, quivering aches at the apexes of thighs, throbbing manhoods? OhyeshahaquiteunusualIdie. This is for another project of course.

But the inevitable question: Will this story have a sex scene? No.

I hope you enjoyed Aoshi the honest drunk. (_02.16.11_)


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